When the Call Came Down the Line
by lonely jester
Summary: Rachel always thought that she was only talented at singing and dancing. Turns out, she's pretty awesome at killing zombies, too. AU Glee/zombie fic
1. Chapter 1

_Yes, yes, yet another Glee-zombie fic. But they're just so damn entertaining, y'know?_

_I already have the first couple chapters written in my head, so…enjoy!_

* * *

><p>Rachel always figured that when the end of the world came, there would be some warning beforehand. An asteroid hurtling towards the earth, perhaps, that would give her ample enough time to bid her loved ones goodbye, or counting down the days to December 21, 2012, the date that some ancient civilization had specifically pinpointed.<p>

It was just her luck that when she and her peers were looking forward to graduating high school and entering the "real world" in mere months, it decided to end. Though when she later reflected on it, it was entirely appropriate that the world had gone to hell on a Monday morning.

Rachel had woken up at 6:00 on the dot that day, as usual. She spent an hour on the elliptical, staring at a star-shaped Post-it with 'Broadway' written on it, as usual. And her iPod was on full blast in her ears, as usual.

What was _not_ usual were the confused murmurs downstairs that turned into alarmed yells and agonized shrieks before cutting off into an ominous silence. Of course, Rachel couldn't hear anything, ominous or otherwise, since not only did she have her iPod's volume cranked up, but her room had also been soundproofed. Her fathers had looked at each other after the third noise complaint they'd received, shrugged, and said, "What's the harm in soundproofing her room?"

Hah.

_-000-000-_

Rachel took out her headphones and wiped away her sweat with a towel. A light exercise regime before school always invigorated her.

She hopped off the elliptical and was headed for her bathroom when something thudded against the door.

Rachel paused. "Daddy?" Hiram Berry liked to check up her in the mornings to make sure she wouldn't be late, however rare an occurrence that was.

The thudding intensified at the sound of her voice. It wasn't so much as knocking as someone throwing themselves bodily at the door.

The brunette frowned in unease, thinking up of one dramatic scenario to another. What if it was someone planning to abduct her and hold her hostage? Or if it was some crazed burglar looking to take advantage of an innocent teenage girl? She reached for the closest thing she had to a weapon: a rather heavy trophy she had won in a dance competition.

Rachel Berry had no idea that her penchant for dramatics would end up saving her life.

She shrieked when the lock on the door finally gave way with a loud crack. It slowly swung open on its hinges, revealing her Daddy.

Her Daddy, whose eyes were a blank milky white and had dark red liquid spilling down his chin, dripping onto a shirt soaked entirely in crimson.

"Daddy? What's going on?" Rachel's voice trembled. There was no way—no _freaking_ way—

Hiram Berry bared his teeth and lunged for her. Rachel screamed and instinctively swung the trophy down as hard as she could.

Its marble base connected with the top of Hiram's head with a sickening crunch. She flinched at the sight of pink brain matter peeking through the gash on her father's head, terrified brown eyes widening when her father slowly stumbled back to his feet.

"This can't be happening, this can't be happening—" Rachel muttered under her breath.

But it was. And despite all evidence to the contrary, Rachel could be quite calm and levelheaded when necessary. So when Hiram reached grasping fingers toward her again, Rachel whispered "Sorry, Daddy," and bashed her father in the head until it was more brain than hair.

Once the body had finally stopped _moving_, for crying out loud, Rachel couldn't stop herself from throwing up. Her tank top was flecked with blood and brain matter, blood was dripping down her dance trophy, and oh yes, did she forget to mention that she just _killed_ her Daddy?

She numbly stared down at what remained of Hiram Berry. He was a small man, not much taller than her, and the one whom she inherited a love for musicals from. Her Dad always said—

Rachel gasped. "Dad!" Her Daddy had already been covered in blood when he came upstairs…

She tightened her grip on the bloody trophy in her hand and cautiously descended the stairs. Rachel always prided herself on her superior hearing abilities; granted, it seemed a lot more useful now than when she used it to detect pitch in her Glee Club teammates' singing voices.

The house was empty of noise. Rachel tried to steady her trembling hands as she summed up the nerve to look into the kitchen. She took a deep breath and peeked around the corner.

The sight of her Dad—tall, proud Leroy Berry—lying prone on the floor with his throat entirely mangled, his head attached to his shoulders by mere threads, made her feel simultaneously devastated and relieved. Devastated because, well, he was dead. Relieved because she didn't have to face the prospect of fighting her six-foot-four Dad—she would never have survived.

Bloody footsteps led out the open front door. Rachel assumed the zombie (for she had seen enough movies to know that was what was going on right now: a _freaking zombie apocalypse_) who had attacked her fathers probably infected Hiram before the both of them took down Leroy. Then Hiram wandered upstairs, attracted by the sound of Rachel's elliptical, while the first zombie left through the door again.

Rachel shut and locked the door before conducting a quick search throughout her house that left her heart pounding. Once she made sure that she was alone and double-checked to make sure all doors and windows were locked, Rachel sat down and turned on the news.

The handsome face of Rod Remington stared gravely at her. "Ladies and gentlemen, there is a highly infectious contagion spreading throughout the United States, transmitted through contact with blood or saliva. The disease causes quick death before reanimation occurs. This is not a joke. I repeat, the disease is spread through saliva or blood."

First things first: there was no way she could stay here. Not only would it be unpleasant to hang around her fathers' dead bodies, it had been proven just how easy it was to get into the Berry home.

She took two sheets to drape over her fathers' bodies before dragging two duffel bags from her closet. Changing into a more practical outfit of jeans and a t-shirt, complete with leather jacket for additional protection, Rachel stuffed one bag with clothes and medical supplies from her bathroom. The other she packed with nonperishable food items, several flares, a short-wave radio, and several flashlights. After watching _Day After Tomorrow_, 10 year-old Rachel had insisted that their house be adequately prepared for natural disasters at all times. 17 year-old Rachel rationalized that emergency supplies could also be used for _un_natural disasters.

Finally, and perhaps most importantly, she needed a weapon. Her Dad was—had been—a firefighter in the Lima Fire Department. She tiptoed into his study, a place she had rarely entered before zombies appeared, and grabbed the fire axe he kept at hand. Rachel took his high school baseball bat, too, for good measure.

Hiram's study, on the other hand, seemed like the last place anyone would look for a weapon, with its tasteful decoration and photographs of the Berry family scattered about. Rachel headed for the bottom drawer, where one of her Daddy's secret hobbies lay. Few people knew Hiram had been an avid hunting enthusiast, or at least had been until Rachel demanded that he stop. She was morbidly thankful to see that he hadn't gotten rid of his shotgun.

Rachel put up her hair into a ponytail and brought her survival supplies into the connected garage, tossing the bags into her Dad's Range Rover. It wasn't the most environmentally friendly car, but she doubted it mattered anymore. Zombie apocalypse trumped global warming any day.

A thick envelope on the kitchen table caught Rachel's eyes as she did a last-minute check. A lump formed in her throat when she saw it had been addressed to her from Juilliard.

Rachel sat down, trying to ignore the sheet-clad form of her Dad on the floor, and opened the envelope.

_Dear Miss Berry,_

_We are delighted to inform you of your admission into our Drama Division program for fall 2012…_

Her breathing grew shallow. This—this was so fucking _unfair_, it was ridiculous. A sob wrenched out of her for the life she could've had before she clamped her jaw shut. Her fathers were gone and she was alone—tears wouldn't help with anything. A cold numbness settled over her. Survival was the only important thing now.

Her attention was drawn to the TV again. "Avoid all contact with the afflicted. Do not attempt to seek out friends or family. Remain in your homes at all costs," the anchorman intoned, obviously trying to keep from panicking.

Rachel scoffed and turned off the TV. She never liked Rod Remington, anyway.

She climbed into the Range Rover and turned on the ignition, feeling the car rumble to life underneath her. Taking a deep breath, Rachel lifted the garage door remote and pressed the button.

* * *

><p>Brittany was woken up by something very large landing on her face.<p>

"Oof." She rolled over and glared blearily at her cat. "For the last time, Lord Tubbington, learn how to make your own coffee!"

The cat uncharacteristically hissed at her and, belying his enormous size, jumped onto the windowsill and disappeared.

Brittany blinked and scrambled to the window. "Tubby! I was just kidding; of course I'll make you coffee! Come back!" She grabbed a sweatshirt and ran out the door.

The blonde rushed down the stairs and ran past her mother, who stretched out a hand towards her with a moan. "Hi, Mom! Bye, Mom!"

She ran out the open door with a chuckle and shook her head; her mother always shuffled around like a zombie before she had her morning coffee. Now, where was Lord Tubbington?

Brittany brightened at seeing her cat lounging on Quinn's porch a few houses down. She sidestepped a woman staggering towards her—"Morning, Mrs. Clarke"—and jogged towards Quinn's. She scooped up her cat into her arms with an affectionate smile before looking thoughtfully towards Quinn's door. Since she was here, she might as well wish Quinn a good morning.

Brittany knocked loudly on the door. As she turned around to wait for the door to open, the blonde was surprised to see everyone on the block staring at her.

She stepped back with a nervous frown; she always did get stage fright, and the way Mrs. Clarke was eyeing her (and the tomato juice the old woman had spilled down her front) was making her uneasy. "Quinn, open the door."

Brittany squeaked when the door suddenly opened and an arm shot out to drag her in by the collar. Lord Tubbington hissed.

"Quinn?"

* * *

><p>Rachel drove down the street, frowning at the unraveling of the world as she passed. Two zombies tearing into a mailman on the sidewalk. Terrified parents running away from their infected children. The brunette shook her head and continued driving, thankful that the streets were mostly empty of cars.<p>

Rachel had no destination in mind except for 'out of Lima' and chuckled humorlessly at the fact that at least that goal still remained the same. So she was rather surprised to see Santana Lopez jogging away from several zombies, spitting English and Spanish curses all the way.

"Fucking hijos de puta! When I find a bat to beat the shit out of you, you're gonna wish you were dead again!" Santana shouted. Her stalkers paid no heed, lumbering ungainly after the Latina.

Despite the cheerleader's ever-sharp tongue, Rachel could see Santana was getting tired. She figured having someone moderately sane to talk to would be a nice change, even if it _was_ Santana. She honked the horn.

Santana's head whipped to the side. So did the zombies'. Rachel waved and reached over to open the passenger door.

Santana sprinted over and threw herself into the car, slamming the door just in time for several hands to pound against the window, accompanied by ghastly moans.

"Drive, Berry, drive!"

Rachel stepped on the gas. She glanced at the rearview mirror to see the zombies trying to follow the car. "Seatbelt."

Santana stopped gasping for breath long enough to look at her incredulously. "What?"

"Put on your seatbelt," Rachel said quietly.

"I don't know about you, Berry, but I'm more concerned about other stuff, like, I don't know, those undead things trying to _eat_ us?" Santana snapped.

Rachel hit the brakes. Santana snapped forward and nearly hit her head on the dashboard before shooting Rachel a panicked look. "What the hell are you doing?"

"We're not moving until you put on a seatbelt."

Santana looked outside to see the undead citizens of Lima shuffling towards them in interest. "Are you shitting me?"

Rachel stared at her stoically before Santana jerked the seatbelt over her torso and hurriedly motioned for Rachel to start moving. Rachel nodded in satisfaction and resumed driving.

"Ay Dios Mio, I always knew you were a little fucking insane, but now it's been officially proven! I swear to God—"

Rachel tuned out Santana's ranting until she heard her say, "Make a left here."

The shorter brunette gave her passenger a puzzled glance. "Why?"

Santana scowled at her. "Weren't you listening to what I just said, Berry? God, how the tables have turned." She shook her head. "We have to go pick up Brittany."

"Santana, I wasn't even planning on picking _you_ up. You just happened to be there."

"So what, you're just planning to leave everyone behind?" Santana said incredulously.

"Whatever it takes to survive."

"Rachel, if you don't turn around right now, so help me God I will leave you tied up in the middle of the street as a gift for every fucking zombie in Ohio."

Rachel looked over at the use of her first name. The Latina looked like she was 2 seconds away from carrying out her threat, but it was her desperation that made Rachel relent.

She made a U-turn. "Call her and tell her we'll be there in 5 minutes."

They sat in tense silence as the phone remained glued to Santana's ear.

"Britt-Britt? Oh, thank God," Santana sighed out. Rachel was slightly jealous Santana still had something to be thankful about. "Where are you? At Quinn's? Why are you there?"

Rachel couldn't make out what Brittany was saying, but Santana nodded. "Okay, hang on, we're coming to get you. Fine, fine, Quinn, too. Don't let anyone into the house, okay? And don't let anyone bite you." Santana hesitated and shot Rachel a self-conscious look before whispering an "I love you" before hanging up.

Knowing Santana would probably throw her out of the car if she brought it up, Rachel tactfully decided to remain silent.

"Hey, Berry?"

"Yes?"

Santana rubbed her neck and looked out the window. "I never thought I'd say this, but—I'm glad you're not zombie food right now."

Rachel smiled slightly at the backhanded compliment. "The feeling's mutual."

"It'd damn well better be fucking mutual. And don't you dare tell anyone what I said!" Santana threatened.

There was a companionable silence as Rachel ran over several zombies standing in the street. They were passing the park when Santana glanced out the window and frowned. "Hey, isn't that Puck?"

Noah Puckerman was in a tree, looking scared shitless as three zombies—two undead joggers and an old man—clawed at the trunk with insatiable hunger. He kicked away their grasping hands with his sneakers, but had no weapon to defend himself, and more zombies were bound to be attracted by the commotion.

Rachel looked at Santana. "Should we stop?"

Santana frowned. "For _him_?"

Rachel shrugged. "I'd feel bad if we left him there." She stopped the car and reached into the backseat to hand Santana the shotgun and a box of shells. "Here, take this."

Santana's jaw dropped. "Damn, Berry, where did you even get this?"

"My Daddy liked to hunt. Do you know how to use it?"

"Point and shoot. How hard can it be?"

Rachel nodded. The two girls exited the car, Rachel hefting the axe, Santana toting the shotgun.

Rachel came up behind one of the jogger zombies and swung the axe with as hard as she could. The blade broke open its skull with a nasty squelch. Santana aimed the gun and quickly put a bullet in the heads of the remaining two.

Rachel frowned as she braced her foot against the zombie's skull and tugged her axe free. "That was extremely loud. Every zombie in a two-block radius probably heard that."

"Let's get moving then." Santana reloaded the gun.

Rachel looked up to see Puck gaping down at them. "You can come down now, Noah."

"Yeah, Puck, quit being a pussy," Santana barked.

Puck dropped out of the tree and stared at them in awe. "That was so fucking badass."

"You can jizz your pants later, Puckerman," Santana said, already heading back towards the car. "We have to go save Brittany and Quinn. You can come too, I guess." Santana shot Rachel a questioning look. The diva sighed and nodded.

Puck trotted after their heels. "But seriously, that was _hot_. You cut that fucker's head open like a melon, Jewbabe—"

"Less talking, more walking, Noah," Rachel said sternly.

Puck shut up and looked at the Range Rover in approval. "I call shotgun!"

"Already did," Santana said smugly. She pointedly cradled the gun in her arms and put her feet up on the dashboard.

Rachel tossed the axe into the backseat and handed him the baseball bat. "Your masculine physique makes you more suited for blunt trauma, Noah."

Santana rolled her eyes at Puck's confused expression. "What Berry means is you've got nice arms, Puckerman, so use them."

"Sweet." Puck flexed his biceps and grinned. He could totally rock this shit; those zombies just caught him off guard before. Besides, bashing in brains wouldn't be any weirder than Rachel and Santana actually working together.

He leaned forward to look between Rachel and Santana. "So am I gonna be the only dude around here? 'Cause I can think of some fun we can do with that—"

"That is completely unnecessary, Noah—"

"Yeah, some fun like cutting off your balls—"

Puck grinned. Nope, his girls were still the same. Except—"Uh, why aren't we moving?"

"Seatbelt," Rachel and Santana chorused together.

* * *

><p><em>Note to self: Don't write zombie fics while alone in the house at night. It gets creepy.<em>

_Also, the item on your left is your primary weapon in the impending zombie apocalypse. The item on your right is your secondary weapon. How do you fare?_

_I got my guitar and my aviators. Excellent, I can serenade the zombies to their [second] deaths with my horrible singing while looking awesome at the same time._


	2. Chapter 2

_Schmank ya kindly for the reviews! Chapters will probably alternate between Rachel and Quinn's p.o.v's. And I don't think this story will be too big on romance, but whatever little there is will probably be Faberry._

* * *

><p>Brittany's eyes widened as an arm shot out and dragged her in by the collar. Lord Tubbington hissed and jumped out of her arms before disappearing upstairs.<p>

"Quinn?"

Quinn shut the door and turned the deadbolt before frantically scanning Brittany's body. "Are you okay? Did anyone bite you?" She pointed at the bite mark shaped bruise on Brittany's neck. "Did someone outside give you that?"

Brittany grinned. "No, Santana did."

Quinn made a face. "Okay, _so_ did not need to know that. What about your family?"

Brittany shrugged. "Mom's home, Dad's at work, and Katie slept over at a friend's. Why?"

Quinn dragged Brittany into the living room, where Judy Fabray was kneeling with clasped hands before a giant picture of Jesus and murmuring to herself. Brittany shot her a puzzled look, but Quinn pointed to the television. "Look."

News footage of various cities in chaos were flashing on the screen. Brittany watched in horror as a group of zombies tore apart a screaming man. "Quinn, what's happening?"

"Zombies." The word felt strange in Quinn's mouth.

"San and I watched _Dawn of the Dead_ on Saturday!" Brittany's smile slid off her face. "Wait, everyone died."

"Yeah, well, gotta make sure we don't, right? Santana would murder me if I let them get to you." Quinn frowned and twisted the fire poker in her hands. "Come on, let's find you a weapon."

"Ooh, like a samurai sword?" Brittany asked excitedly as Quinn started rummaging through a closet.

"Uh, not quite, Britt."

Brittany pouted. "I should've gone to Mike's. He'd have cool Asian stuff like that."

Quinn pulled out a golf bag and unzipped it. "Here, my dad left his golf stuff when he moved out."

"I always wanted to try playing golf, but Santana has something against golf courses." Brittany took a golf club and swung it experimentally. Quinn yelped and jumped back as it came dangerously close to her head.

"Hey!"

"Sorry! It's lighter than I expected."

"Yeah, it's made out of titanium or something. Super light and strong—only the best for Russell." Quinn briefly thought about her estranged father. Was he one of the walking dead? The thought didn't make her sad, but it didn't make her happy, either—mostly because that just meant one more zombie to kill.

Both girls froze when a thudding started at the door, accompanied by hair-raising moans. Brittany skipped over to the door. "Who is it?"

"Oh my God, Brittany, don't answer that!" Quinn hissed.

"Sorry, we're not home right now!" Brittany called out before scurrying back to Quinn's side.

Quinn frowned. "We can't stay here. The door will hold for a while, but we don't have enough food or weapons."

"We also have to get Santana," Brittany reminded her.

Quinn hesitated. Santana lived halfway across town—she was probably already dead. "Brittany, I don't think—"

Brittany's ringtone cut her off. The taller blonde smiled delightedly and picked it up. "Santana!"

Well, speak of the devil. Quinn felt a pang of relief—Santana may be a pain in the ass, but at least she was _Quinn's_ pain in the ass.

"I'm at Quinn's, where are you? Lord Tubbington ran away to Quinn's house and I had to follow him. Did you know there are zombies out there?" Brittany paused to let Santana speak. "You'll pick up Quinn, too, right?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. Of course Santana would joke about leaving her behind during the apocalypse.

"Great! We'll see you soon! I love you!" Brittany hung up the phone before hugging Quinn happily. "Santana is coming to pick us up."

"It's about damn time," Quinn said dryly. She crossed the room to where her mother was kneeling and crouched down next to Judy. "Mom? Santana's coming to get us. We have to leave."

Judy kept muttering the Pater Noster under her breath, making no indication she heard her daughter. Quinn tried to swallow the lump in her throat. Ever since they turned on the news and saw the horror happening outside, Judy had retreated into her own little world.

Brittany nervously eyed the two Fabray women as the banging on the door intensified. "Quinn, how is Santana going to reach us if all our neighbors are trying to break down your door?"

Fuck, she hadn't thought of that. "We can cut through backyards to get to the street—"

Brittany shushed her and cocked her head. Her brow furrowed. "Listen, Quinn."

Quinn strained her ears. Ignoring the loud banging and audible groans outside the door, she could hear...singing? And not just anyone singing; it sounded like—"Rachel?"

_-000-000-_

The car idled at the top of Quinn and Brittany's block. Inside, Rachel, Santana, and Puck stared at the numerous zombies shuffling towards one house, where a sizable group of the walking dead was already gathered.

"Isn't that—" Puck began.

"Quinn's house? Yeah," Santana answered moodily. "It must be the only uninfected house left on the block."

"And the zombies must know that," Rachel mused.

"How are we going to get in?" Puck asked Rachel.

"We need bait. I volunteer Puckerman," Santana announced.

"Screw you, Lopez."

"Been there, done that, and so not worth it."

Rachel unbuckled her seatbelt. "Santana, give me the gun."

The cheerleader obligingly swapped her gun for Rachel's axe. "What are you planning, short stack?"

"Like you said, we need bait." Rachel opened the door and hopped out. "I'll distract them—you two go in and get Brittany and Quinn."

"You crazy, Berry? That's practically suicide!" Santana hissed.

"I'll go," Puck offered.

"No offense, Noah, but I'm much more agile than you are, and Santana, I'm sure Brittany's expecting you. I'll lead the zombies away and then meet you at Quinn's."

Santana and Puck exchanged glances. "If you're not back in ten minutes, we're leaving without you," Santana threatened.

Rachel dismissed her with a wave and slammed the door shut. Santana climbed into the driver's seat and drummed her hands on the wheel.

Puck peered nervously at where Rachel was standing in the middle of the street. "What is she doing?"

Rachel opened her mouth and began to sing loudly. "_Is this the real life?"_

Santana rolled her eyes. "She _would_ try to distract a bunch of zombies by singing."

"_Is this just fantasy?"_

Puck nodded approvingly. "I love this song."

"_Caught in a landslide…_"

The group of zombies turned towards the source of sound. As if their minds were one, they turned away from the front door and surged towards the petite brunette.

"_No escape from reality!"_

Puck shook Santana's shoulder excitedly. "It's working!"

"Don't touch me."

Rachel stood tall in the middle of the street, her voice soaring above the groans of the zombies as she finished the intro. She lifted her Dad's pump-action shotgun to eyelevel and began to slowly walk backwards, beguiling the dead with her sound and movement.

"_Mama, just killed a man…"_ Rachel sang out as the first zombie reached for her. A sharp _crack _sounded, and his head disappeared in a burst of fine red mist. "_Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead…"_

Santana and Puck watched in awe as Rachel led the zombies around the corner like the Pied Piper.

"Un-freaking-believable. Who knew Berry had it in her?" Santana muttered as she quickly stopped the car in front of Quinn's house and jumped out.

Puck clobbered a stray zombie with his bat. Its neck snapped back with a nasty crack. Puck smashed its head once more for good measure. "Man, I should've tried out for the baseball team."

Santana was impatiently banging on Quinn's door. "You'd think Quinn would be tripping over herself to be rescued, but noooo, she has to take her sweet ass time..." She pounded on the door again.

_-000-000-_

Quinn and Brittany exchanged cautious looks as the singing died away, as did the nerve-wracking groaning. What was going on?

Both girls jumped when something pounded on the door. Quinn sighed. "You know, I almost thought the zombies left—"

The doorbell rang. Brittany beamed. "Zombies can't do that, Quinn!" She bounded forward and opened the door. "Santana!"

Santana sighed in relief as Brittany picked her up and spun her around. "Hey, Britt-Britt." She shot Quinn a dirty look. "Open the door much, Q?"

"I thought you were a zombie," Quinn said defensively.

"Told you the doorbell would work," Puck smugly directed towards Santana. She half-heartedly flipped him off, too busy being distracted by Brittany's enthusiastic lips.

Quinn blinked. "Puck? Why are you here?"

"Rescuing you fine ladies, of course." Puck wiggled his eyebrows.

Santana pulled away from Brittany long enough to scoff at him. "Oh, _please_. You were practically zombie food before Berry and I saved your sorry ass."

"Berry? As in Rachel Berry?" Quinn asked in disbelief.

"No, as in the fruit." Santana rolled her eyes.

"So that's who was singing, Quinn!" Brittany said excitedly.

"Yeah, Rachel's lost her shit," Santana said conversationally. "She distracted the zombies so we could reach you."

Quinn paled. "You left her to die?"

"She volunteered," Puck protested. "Besides, I have faith in my Jewish princess—she'll be back."

A breathy giggle caught both their attentions. Quinn grimaced at seeing where Santana's hand was and brandished her fire poker threateningly at Brittany and Santana. "Oh my God, stop that! No one wants to see you two getting it on."

"Actually—"

"Shut it, Puck!" Quinn and Santana both snapped.

Puck held up his hands and collapsed in the armchair, directing his attention to the TV. His bat left bloodstains on the carpet, and Santana's axe was dripping…stuff (blood? brain matter?) everywhere. Quinn sidestepped the mess and sat on the sofa.

"Holy shit, the East Coast is completely overrun," Puck said in awe.

"And it looks like the West Coast is close to it," Santana observed. Brittany uncharacteristically frowned and leaned into Santana.

Quinn bit her lip. "We're trapped on both sides."

They sat in gloomy silence as the news feed suddenly cut off, leaving the screen a fuzzy black and white.

Quinn shrieked and jumped to her feet as a hand suddenly landed on her shoulder. Santana, Brittany, and Puck immediately sprang back with weapons raised.

Rachel's hands flew up. "It's just me!"

"Damn it, Rachel, you don't sneak up on people during a zombie apocalypse!" Quinn snapped. Her heart was pounding in her ears. "How did you even get in?"

"Back door." Rachel shrugged.

"Rachel! I'm so glad you're alive!" Brittany swept the smaller girl into a bone-crushing hug. Santana gave her a nod and Puck grinned at her.

Rachel frowned at them. "Why are you all just sitting around? Go get dressed, pack your stuff, get supplies!"

Quinn raised her eyebrows. Rachel seemed as driven as always—except, you know, this time for survival instead of winning Nationals.

"I'm sorry, is there a specific dress code for killing zombies?" Santana said sarcastically.

"Sturdy clothing that won't tear easily—jeans, shirts, jackets. As aesthetically pleasing as the Cheerios' uniforms are, they expose too much skin," Rachel fired back.

"We were supposed to have cheer practice this morning," Santana muttered, but offered no further objections.

Quinn rubbed a hand across her face; she forgot about the existence of school. It had only taken a couple hours to completely forget her old life.

"You, too, Quinn," Rachel admonished before turning to Puck. "Noah, help me find supplies we could use."

Quinn motioned Brittany and Santana to follow her to her room. She was thankful that she still had her clothes from her punk phase; she figured cardigans and dresses wouldn't exactly fit Rachel's guidelines for zombie-ready outfits.

They came downstairs to see Rachel keeping guard as Puck sprinted to the car to place two sleeping bags in the trunk. They hurried back inside and locked the door behind them.

"Your house is empty, Quinn. Didn't you have to eat once in a while?" Puck complained.

Quinn glared at him. "Why don't you go out to the store and get us some food, then?"

"At least you have two sleeping bags," Rachel mused. "We might have to sleep outside tonight."

Quinn idly twirled the fire poker in her hands. Her and Frannie's sleeping bags. They used to sleep in the backyard together when they were younger. She frowned. "What about the school? Can't we hole up there?"

Rachel shook her head. "McKinley is right in the middle of the Lima. Staying inside the city limits would be imprudent."

"The mall?" Puck suggested.

"Clearly you haven't seen _Dawn of the Dead_," Santana said.

"Guys?" Brittany's voice shook.

They all turned to look at the blonde. "What's the matter, B?" Santana asked gently.

"We have a problem." She pointed out the window.

Several dozen zombies were breaking through Quinn's back fence, the wooden planks being torn away by unfeeling hands. Already some zombies were almost through.

"I thought you said you lost them!" Quinn shouted frantically at Rachel.

Rachel paled. "They must've followed me."

"No shit, Sherlock?" Santana asked, her voice unusually high-pitched.

"Maybe if we're quiet, they won't notice us," Puck suggested.

Brittany hastily slid the curtains shut. "Like, really, really quiet."

Puck turned to Rachel. "What now, Jewbabe?" He whispered.

Rachel blinked when they all turned to look at her. "How should I know?"

"Because you're Rachel 'I-always-have-a-freaking-plan' Berry! You have your life planned out to 25!" Santana hissed.

"I'm sorry if I didn't foresee the zombie apocalypse!" Rachel argued back quietly.

"Quinnie?" A voice said behind them.

Quinn turned around to see her mother standing in the doorway, large kitchen knife in hand. The hairs on the back of her neck rose.

Santana chuckled uneasily. "Quinn, your mom is seriously channeling Michael Myers right now."

"Yeah, Mom?" Quinn didn't like how Judy's eyes were cold, empty. Dead.

Judy cocked her head. "We have to go now."

Quinn's mouth was dry. "Yeah, I know. We're trying to decide where."

"God is waiting for us. The soldiers of Christ will punish the sinners, but not us."

Puck snorted. "Is she seriously calling the zombies 'soldiers of Christ'?" Rachel surreptitiously pried the golf club from Brittany's hands, handing her the gun.

Judy ignored him. "Quinn, we have to go to God now. He's calling for me and you." She began to advance towards her daughter with the knife raised.

Santana stepped forward with wide eyes. "Whoa, Judes! Put the knife down!"

"Stay back, Santana," Quinn warned lowly, backing away from Judy. She strained to keep her voice calm. "Mom, God is _not_ calling for us. He doesn't want to see us right now—"

"Fuck this," Puck swore. He pointed the bat threateningly at Judy. "Listen, lady—"

"You! The Jew who corrupted my Quinnie!" Judy accused, pointing the knife towards him.

Puck looked offended. "Hey, I _said_ sorry—"

"And you two!" Judy whirled to point accusingly at Santana and Brittany. Santana looked wary while Brittany pointed at herself questioningly. "Your homosexual conduct has brought God's wrath down upon us all!"

"Oh _hell_ no," Santana growled. "Quinn, I don't care if she's your mother, I'm kicking her ass!"

"Don't you see, Quinn? These sinners are going to be punished. I just want the best for you." Judy shook her head sadly before lunging for Quinn.

Quinn flinched as everyone started shouting. The knife was inches away from plunging into her chest before there was a nasty _crack_. Judy's eyes rolled to the back of her head before she slumped sideways, revealing Rachel standing behind her with a bloody golf club in hand.

"Sorry, Quinn. Had to be done." Rachel shrugged.

Quinn gaped at Judy. "Is she dead?"

Santana knelt down to check Judy's pulse. "No, her Royal Craziness is still breathing. Nice timing, Berry."

Rachel bit her lip and shot a look at Quinn. "We were loud. Someone check if the zombies heard us."

Puck, who was closest, poked his head behind the curtain. He flinched at seeing at least a dozen faces staring back, hands pressed against the glass. "Fucking hell."

Hands started hammering against the glass, causing it to crack. Puck leaped backwards.

"Car's outside! Let's go!" Santana shouted.

"Quinn, your mom?" Puck asked hurriedly.

"Leave her."

They all turned to look at Rachel incredulously.

"Rachel, she's still alive," Brittany pointed out.

"Did you see her eyes? She's already gone," Rachel said quietly. "Even if I didn't give her permanent brain damage, she's already lost her mind."

They turned at the sound of shattering glass. The first zombie had entered the house.

Quinn's knuckles were white from gripping the fire poker so tightly. "Rachel, leaving my mom here will kill her."

"And bringing her along will kill _us_. It's all about survival, Quinn."

Quinn eyed the zombies stumbling toward them and made her decision. "Leave her."

Puck, Santana, and Brittany were out the door in two seconds. Rachel grabbed Quinn's arm and followed, hastily flinging Quinn towards the passenger seat and hopping into the driver's seat. By the time several dozen zombies flowed out of the Fabray residence, the car was halfway down the street.

The car was filled with a heavy silence. Quinn was dimly aware of Rachel shooting her concerned glances, but ignored her. God forgive her, she just killed her mother—except, there was no God, was there?

Brittany sniffed and laid her head on Santana's shoulder. "We left Lord Tubbington." Santana put an arm around her not-so-secret-anymore girlfriend and kissed her temple.

Puck said what they were all thinking. "This blows."

The rest of the ride was silent.

* * *

><p>Quinn unrolled the sleeping bag and stretched out on it, feeling warm from the fire that Brittany, surprisingly, had lit.<p>

"My family used to come here all the time," Brittany said. She was sitting on the other sleeping bag, Santana's head in her lap. She contemplatively ran her fingers through dark hair. "Before…"

Before they had all been eaten. Quinn glanced around. The Lima Campgrounds were just outside Lima, but it had taken hours to reach it, by which time darkness had fallen. Not that Lima was that big, but many streets had been blocked off, either by large groups of zombies or barriers erected by desperate survivors. Smoke could be seen rising from a distant part of town, where fires were raging out of control. It was a good thing they'd left when they could.

Quinn looked up to the girl who had gotten them out of there. Rachel was unusually quiet, sitting on a log and studying the flames. There was something off about the petite brunette, but Quinn couldn't quite put her finger on it…

Santana popped another nut into her mouth. "Berry, don't you have anything other to eat than rabbit food? A can of Spam or something?"

"Santana, I'm a Jewish vegan. Why the hell would I have Spam?" Rachel grumbled.

"I'm cool with that vegan shit, but the Puckersaurus needs some meat," Puck agreed pleadingly.

Quinn frowned at the look on Rachel's face. It was gone before she could properly identify it, but it looked something like determination, mixed with…regret?

"There's a Walmart close by. You can stop by in the morning," Rachel said softly, her attention returning to the fire.

"I love Walmart! Remember when we had a shopping cart race there, San?" Brittany said to Santana.

Puck chortled. "Or when we had that shoplifting contest? That was fun."

Quinn ignored their chatter. She had the strangest urge to shake Rachel's shoulders and demand her attention. What was the brunette hiding from them?

Soon, Rachel demanded they go to sleep. Puck volunteered to keep first watch, and while Santana and Brittany insisted that sharing a sleeping bag was fine (in fact, Quinn suspected they thought it was more than fine), she and Rachel avoided each other's gaze.

Quinn finally cleared her throat. "We can share a sleeping bag, Rachel. I won't bite."

They both winced as the day's events came to mind. Quinn shook her head. "Sorry, poor choice of words."

Rachel chuckled. "Yeah. I appreciate the offer, Quinn, but I think I'll just sleep in the car."

Quinn eyed Rachel suspiciously. "Okay. Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight." Rachel climbed into the backseat and shut the door, hiding herself from the world.

Quinn lay down and tried to fall asleep. It was hard to do so when all she could see when she closed her eyes was her mother coming at her with a knife. Quinn resigned herself to a sleepless night. Hours crept by; the crackling of the fire grew quieter as the flames died down; the night was mostly quiet, interspersed with the chirping of crickets and the light snoring of Puck as he dozed off.

Quinn tensed at the sound of the car door opening. She resisted the urge to turn around, instead feigning sleep. Through the slits of her eyes, she could see Rachel look around to make sure everyone was sleeping before tiptoeing away from the campsite. Quinn frowned at seeing the backpack on her shoulders and axe in hand.

Rachel was leaving them.

Quinn was instantly on her feet and silently trailed the brunette into the surrounding woods. Rachel was hardly 100 feet from the campsite when Quinn tackled her to the ground.

"Oomph!" Rachel immediately rolled onto her back and tried to shove Quinn off.

Quinn pinned down her wrists and glared at the shorter girl. "Where do you think you're going, Berry?"

Rachel glared back. "Bathroom."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I'm really sure you need a backpack and an axe to do that."

"Okay, fine, I was leaving," Rachel conceded.

"Yeah, already figured that out. I want to know _why_."

"Staying in a group makes it harder to move and attracts more attention. It's nothing personal, Quinn; just survival."

"Well, it's really hard to _not_ take it personally when you're leaving us here to die," Quinn spat back.

Rachel looked offended. "I'm leaving behind the gun and most of the provisions!"

"You're the leader! How do you think they'll feel when they wake up and you're gone?" Quinn shouted, no longer caring if she woke anyone up.

"This isn't Glee Club anymore, Quinn! There is no leader, just a bunch of teenagers who have no idea what to do!" Rachel snapped back.

"Do you see way everyone looks at you, Rachel? They're depending on you to get them through this!"

"Well, maybe I can't get them through this. Maybe I don't want to stick around to see Santana or Brittany or Noah die because they thought I knew what I was doing!" Rachel bucked her hips in an attempt to throw Quinn off. "Get off me!"

"No!"

Quinn wasn't even sure what they were doing anymore, rolling around in the leaves and dirt like two schoolboys in a scuffle. Rachel's hand was shoving her face away and she was using her whole body to hold the other girl down when they heard a branch snap. Both girls froze.

Rachel and Quinn slowly looked up to see a disheveled man standing above them, the left side of his face missing and mouth smeared with blood. He considered them curiously for a moment…before lunging.

Both girls screamed.

* * *

><p><em>Several references to some of my fave movies throughout, if you can find them...also, the rest of the Glee club will show up in the next chapitre. 'Til next time.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

As the zombie lunged towards them, Rachel could only feel a brief pang of regret—not because her life had been ridiculously short and sucky up to that point, but because she was dragging Quinn down with her. Wrong place, wrong time for the blonde.

Rachel heard the sharp crack right before the zombie's head exploded before her eyes, spattering both girls with blood and brain matter. It collapsed sideways to the ground.

"Headshot!" Puck whooped behind them.

Quinn looked torn between shock and relief, staring at the now-headless zombie with wide eyes.

"That was close," Rachel ventured to say.

"Yeah. You've got some…" Quinn made a vague motion towards her face.

Rachel wiped the blood off her face with her hand before reaching up to Quinn. The blonde flinched.

"Relax. You have…stuff in your hair," Rachel said.

"Oh." Quinn let Rachel brush chunks of skull out of her hair. "Thanks."

They tensed at the sound of something crashing through the bushes, but relaxed at seeing it was Santana and Brittany.

"What happened?" Santana demanded, her hands curled around the baseball bat.

"I just saved Rachel and Quinn's asses, no big deal," Puck boasted. His smirk grew wider as he stared at Rachel and Quinn. "Though the question should be, what were you two doing before I came to the rescue?"

Rachel and Quinn blushed when they realized their compromising position; Quinn was still straddling Rachel, hands planted on either side of Rachel's head. They scrambled to their feet, avoiding each other's gaze.

"We were just talking," Quinn protested.

"Oh, really? Interesting conversation?" Santana asked smugly.

Brittany laughed. "Maybe they were talking with their tongues super close, San."

"No! There was no tongue of any sort!" Rachel objected.

Puck snickered. "Whatever you say, babe."

Quinn eyed Brittany. "Your shirt's on backwards, Britt."

Brittany and Santana exchanged mischievous looks. Quinn caught their silent exchange. Her eyes widened in disbelief. "Seriously? You are_unbelievable_."

"Jealous, Q?" Santana preened.

"Don't be mad, Quinn. I'm sure next time you and Rachel won't be interrupted by a hungry dead guy," Brittany assured.

"Hell yes," Puck said with a shit-eating grin.

"I think we have more important things to think about, like where this zombie came from," Rachel interrupted dryly, nudging the headless body with her toe. The playful atmosphere immediately evaporated.

Quinn frowned. "That's the direction of Lima."

"It probably heard you 'talking' with Rachel," Santana air-quoted. Quinn scowled at her.

"Well, maybe if _someone_ didn't fall asleep while on guard duty, this could've been avoided." Rachel shot a pointed look at Puck, who looked apologetic.

Brittany frowned. "What if there are more around?"

Everyone looked around in paranoia, expecting an army of the undead to surge up from behind the trees. Rachel furrowed her brow. "If they're leaving the city, that must mean they're running out of food."

"No way—Lima's not that small. There's gotta be some survivors left," Santana argued.

"Maybe, but probably not enough to sustain the infected population," Rachel said solemnly. "Everyone will either be dead or infected."

There was a heavy silence until Quinn said firmly, "Then we stick together." She glared at Rachel, who looked away.

"I always thought of Glee as my second family," Brittany said wistfully. "Even if most of us aren't here…" Santana squeezed her hand reassuringly.

Rachel glanced up at the sky, which had lightened from black to indigo blue. Dawn was approaching. "We should get moving. If one walker found us, that means others can, too."

"Where to?" Puck asked her.

"Walmart first for supplies," Rachel said decisively. "We can figure out the next destination when we're properly prepared."

The car was quickly loaded, the fire thoroughly put out. No sense in escaping from bloodthirsty ghouls only to die in a wildfire. Rachel took the wheel, Quinn sitting in the passenger seat as part of the group's unspoken agreement. The large retail store was located on the outskirts of Lima, far away from the city enough that there was a chance it wouldn't be completely overrun. Still, as they maneuvered around the shells of abandoned cars and passed the odd zombie, Rachel hoped they weren't headed for a death trap.

_-000-000-_

Only a few cars peppered Walmart's parking lot, attesting to the relatively small number of zombified shoppers roaming around. Rachel pulled up directly in front of the entrance. They jumped out of the car, warily eyeing the few zombies in the parking lot. The undead were shuffling towards them, but were far away enough to not be an immediate concern.

"Okay, we should split up. Noah and I will get food. Santana, Brittany, and Quinn, gather anything else that might be useful—flashlights, radios—"

"No." Quinn crossed her arms, cocking her head defiantly when everyone turned to stare at her.

Rachel scowled. "What do you mean, 'no'?"

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "I go with you. Puck goes with Brittany and Santana."

"Does it matter?" Puck asked in confusion.

"Yes, it does," Quinn snapped at him.

He wordlessly held up his hands. Santana's smirk spoke volumes. "Got something to tell us, Q?"

Rachel and Quinn exchanged glances, the brunette conveying a silent plea for Quinn to keep quiet about her earlier attempt at leaving.

"No," Quinn brushed Santana off. "Don't get bitten, or I'll have to kill you." She grabbed a shopping cart and headed off.

"Watch each other's back. Meet up here in an hour," Rachel informed them before trotting after Quinn, twirling the axe in her hands.

Rachel kept a few paces ahead of Quinn, peeking into each aisle before motioning her to follow. "I confess, Quinn, I'm surprised you didn't tell the others about my attempt to leave."

Quinn scoffed. "They wouldn't trust you anymore if I did, and then we'd all be killed. Like you said, it's all about survival."

"So you didn't want to be paired with me for the pleasure of my company?" Rachel asked dryly.

"Nope. I'm just making sure you won't run away again," Quinn languidly replied. "You have to admit it was a bitch move."

"I had nothing but good intentions," Rachel defended.

"Road to hell, Rachel. Heard of it?"

"We're already in hell, Quinn." Rachel stopped at one aisle, seeing a zombie donning a Walmart employee vest staggering around. Rachel turned to Quinn, holding a finger to her lips. Quinn raised an eyebrow, but nodded.

Rachel moved stealthily behind the oblivious zombie shuffling down the aisle. She whistled to get its attention.

The zombie turned and started stumbling towards them, its one intact arm outstretched. Firmly planting her feet, Rachel waited until the zombie was mere feet away before swinging the axe down with all her strength, lodging the blade deep into its skull. Tugging it free, Rachel swung the axe into the zombie's head once more for good measure. She turned around to see Quinn gaping at her. "What?"

"Maybe we should've called you Patrick Bateman instead of RuPaul."

Rachel was torn between amusement and indignation. "Are you implying I'm a psycho?"

"If I said yes, would you kill me?" Amused hazel eyes assessed her.

Rachel stuck out her tongue. "Never mind that. If you think about it, the infected are still human, albeit dead ones, and humans rely on hearing and vision the most."

Quinn slowly nodded. "That makes sense. What about smell?"

"Our olfactory senses are somewhat lacking compared to our other senses, so I would imagine the walkers would be the same. If we're discreet, they wouldn't even know we were here, though I imagine smell will become a factor once they start decomposing and we don't." Rachel shot her a look. "All hypothetical, of course, so don't go sneaking around zombies just for kicks."

"Not everyone's as crazy as you, Berry," Quinn said lightly.

"Not everyone's as _determined_ as I am," Rachel corrected.

"Well, it's not like we have a choice. Santana, Brittany, Puck, and I will have to learn to deal with your craziness, because like it or not, Rachel, we've only got each other now."

"Figures I'd be stuck with the cheerleaders and the jock." Rachel smiled ruefully.

"Like a Broadway-obsessed diva is any better," Quinn scoffed playfully.

Rachel laughed humorlessly, her mind flashing back to the acceptance letter sitting on her kitchen table. "I don't think Broadway is in the cards anymore."

Quinn looked wistful, prompting Rachel to wonder what dreams Quinn had lost. The blonde shook her head. "But you're making a killing in the zombie business."

"Funny," Rachel deadpanned.

Quinn flashed her a smile. "It's true! You're good at this survival thing—kind of like a cockroach."

"Barring that insulting comparison, of course I am. I'm Rachel Berry."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "And there's the Berry we know."

Rachel waited for Quinn to finish her sentence. "And?"

"And what?" Quinn skirted around the body on the floor, indiscriminately tossing cans of food into the cart.

"I believe the proper idiomatic term is, 'There's the Berry whom we know and love.'"

"Not in your case." Quinn smirked at her.

Rachel huffed, but she was secretly pleased by the camaraderie that bloomed between her and Quinn. A zombie apocalypse would bring together the most unlikely people, she supposed, but the banter was still appreciated.

"I wonder if this kosher," Rachel mused as she examined a packet of beef jerky. Out of the corner of her eye, she detected movement. The brunette whirled around a split-second before Quinn shouted, "Rachel, watch out!"

She brought up her axe just in time as a zombie slammed into her. Rachel gagged at the stench of putrid flesh blowing right into her face. The walker growled as it struggled to tear into her flesh. Only the handle of the axe rammed between its jaws kept the zombie from biting her, but her strength was rapidly depleting.

There was a nasty _squelch _when the fire poker was suddenly jabbed through the zombie's head. It slumped forward, loosening its grip on the axe. Rachel shoved it back with her boot and looked up at a wide-eyed Quinn, who looked shell-shocked at what she just did. "Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem," Quinn murmured. She tugged the metal poker out of the zombie's cranium, wincing as it came out with an unpleasant sucking sound.

Rachel tossed the beef jerky aside. "I'll take that as a sign—no to the dried cow."

"Veganism isn't exactly conducive to survival, you know."

"Do you really want to eat meat after watching people being ripped to shreds?" Rachel wryly asked.

"Touché."

Rachel picked up a can of tuna. "What about—"

"_Shhh_!"

Rachel huffed incredulously. "Quinn Fabray, did you just shush me?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I bothered, seeing as you didn't shut up. Listen!"

Rachel strained her ears. There was the sound of heavy footsteps in the next aisle. Her hands tightened around the axe, and she turned back to Quinn. "I think there's two of them in the next aisle. Fight or flight?"

Quinn nervously wiped clammy palms on her jeans before nodding resolutely. "Fight."

They crept along the shelves, preparing to ambush whatever was on the other side. Rachel glanced back at Quinn. "Ready?"

"Ready."

Rachel took a deep breath before jumping out with the axe brandished, involuntarily letting loose a battle cry, Quinn following her example. She almost dropped her axe at the piercing yells that were emitted at their sudden presence. Hang on, zombies didn't shriek—

"Rachel! Quinn!" Kurt yelped, tire iron dangling loosely from his hand.

"Kurt?" Rachel said in shock before something spun her around and swept her into a crushing hug.

"Rachel! You're alive!" Finn crowed happily. Rachel was only able to pat him on the arm, unable to draw in breath to answer. "We stopped by your house and it was empty except for your dead dads—"

Rachel winced. Quinn noticed and shot Finn a dirty look. "Finnsensitive."

"Oh, jeez, I'm sorry—" he babbled.

Rachel waved him off. She felt guilty that Finn hadn't crossed her mind even once since the world went to hell—in her defense, she was too focused on staying alive with the people she had with her instead of mourning those who weren't.

"What about Burt and Carol?" Quinn asked quietly. Rachel felt a pang when Kurt gave them a stricken look.

Finn shook his head sadly. "A bunch of zombies broke in—there was no warning, nothing we could do. Mom and Burt held them off, gave us time to escape. We ran into Tina and Mike at the checkpoint."

"What checkpoint?" Quinn demanded.

"National Guard. They came in to control the infected."

"And?" Rachel prompted.

"And failed miserably," Kurt deadpanned. "Most of them were eaten, the rest panicked and ran. We spent the night in the car, but we didn't have food, so we came here."

"So where's Tina and Mike?" Rachel asked.

"There was a group of walkers roaming around the entrance. We got separated. Finn and I lost the zombies tailing us in the produce section," Kurt explained.

"You didn't kill them?" Rachel said sharply.

"Didn't you think of, I don't know, maybe bashing them in the head?" Quinn added angrily.

Finn flushed. "There were a lot, and they were really bite-y, okay? We panicked."

Rachel shook her head. "More walkers equal more trouble. Let's regroup and get out of here."

"Regroup? Who else survived?" Kurt asked.

"Puck, Santana, Brittany," Rachel answered.

Kurt chuckled wryly. "It's Glee Club all over again."

Rachel nudged Quinn. "I'll lead, you grab the cart?"

Finn frowned. "Wait, since when were you two friends?"

"Since when were you an attentive boyfriend?" Quinn snapped. "You coming, or you need someone to hold your hand?"

Finn mumbled something incoherent. Rachel stifled a grin; it seemed Quinn was good at this survival thing, too. Even when the world ended, she could be as intimidating as ever.

They had barely traversed an aisle before Rachel stopped at hearing a low thrumming sound coming from several aisles over. She frowned as it grew louder by the second.

"What is that?" Kurt asked nervously.

She jumped back as a forklift drove past, a triumphant Puck at the wheel. Santana and Brittany were perched on the small space behind the driver's seat, and to Rachel's relief, Tina and Mike were next to them. Several bulging backpacks and duffel bags had been stacked on top of the pallet.

"I fucking love Walmart!" Puck whooped as he stopped the forklift in front of Rachel. He jerked a thumb towards Tina and Mike. "Picked up a couple of strays, by the way."

"Keep your voice down—there are walkers around," Rachel warned lowly. "What's in the bags?"

Santana smirked. "We hit up the gun section. Rifles, shotguns, handguns—it was like every Republican's wet dream."

"Look, Rachel, I'm Robin Hood," Brittany said cheerfully, showing her a crossbow that she was handling with surprising ease.

Rachel eyed her warily. "Uh, Brittany—"

"Don't worry, my uncle taught me how to use it."

"What else is there?" Quinn said, interrupting the happy greetings being exchanged.

"Medical supplies and some hardcore survival shit—I'm talking walkie-talkies, flashlights, water-purifiers," Puck said proudly. "And extra backpacks for the food, in case we gotta carry it around."

"Smart thinking," Rachel commented, already putting the cans into the bags.

"Thanks."

Santana smacked the back of his head. "My idea, dumbass."

"Rachel—we really have to get moving," Quinn murmured. She nodded towards the walker lumbering toward them from the end of the aisle.

Rachel surveyed the group. "Okay, everyone carries a bag. We have to move quickly and quietly; walkers are attracted to sound and sight. That means no guns. They probably can't smell well, but we can't be sure. Noah and Santana, guard the rear. You four—" She looked at the newcomers to their little group. "Have you killed any zombies yet?"

Kurt shrugged. "Not yet. I've discovered avoidance is a pretty good tactic."

"I kinda got one," Finn volunteered.

"Running away while pissing your pants doesn't count," Quinn said dryly. Finn shot her a dirty look as the others chuckled.

"I have," Tina said quietly. Mike nodded, his normally cheerful face haunted.

Rachel nodded. "Good. You know what to do—aim for the head, and for the love of God, do _not_ get bitten. Let's go." She slung a backpack on her shoulders, grunting underneath the weight. She looked up at a low moan from the walker that was now too close for comfort. "Brittany, can you—?"

Brittany obligingly lifted her crossbow and sent a bolt through the zombie's head.

"I am _so_ turned on right now," Santana said in awe as she stared at her girlfriend.

"Me, too."

"Shut up, Puck."

_-000-000-_

Sweat plastered her bangs to her forehead and she was sure every zombie in the vicinity could hear her heart pounding out of her chest. Still, Rachel ignored the burning in her legs as she darted between aisles, trying to avoid being seen by the zombies shuffling around. "We're almost to the entrance, guys—"

She peeked around the corner and stopped cold, causing Quinn to almost run into her. "What's wrong?" The blonde quickly asked.

Rachel closed her eyes and counted to three before opening them, hoping she was hallucinating. Nope. The entrance was _right_ _there_—just beyond the shambling, bloodied zombies staggering around. Every time a zombie outside neared the entrance, the glass doors automatically slid open, granting it access to join its brethren.

"Fucking automatic doors," Quinn breathed out. "They're opening more frequently than Santana's legs."

"Fuck you, Fabray, I heard that," Santana hissed from the back.

"We need to find another way out," Rachel determined. "Everyone go back the way we came—"

There was a loud clatter as Finn accidently knocked over a display of cans. Rachel closed her eyes in aggravation as the rest of them started at him in horror.

"Sorry, sorry guys!" the hapless boy whispered frantically. "Maybe they didn't hear—"

A ghastly, collective moan cut him off. The hairs on the back of Rachel's neck stood up at the sound of shuffling—the zombies were definitely moving towards them.

"Run!" Rachel hissed. "To the back of the store! Find another way out!"

The moaning seemed to grow louder no matter which way they turned, echoing through the aisles. Rachel glanced back fleetingly as her foot kicked something on the floor, vaguely noting it was a container of lighter fluid. She skidded to a stop next to the circular counter in the gun department. With time running out, Rachel jumped over the counter and dropped to the floor. Hopefully, out of sight would mean out of mind for the zombies.

The rest of them quickly followed suit, trying to keep their ragged panting quiet as bone-chilling groaning rang in their ears. After several heart-pounding minutes, Rachel chanced a quick peek over the counter. The zombies that had been following them were now roaming around in seeming confusion, aimless after losing their prey. Rachel breathed out a sigh of relief and slumped against the counter.

Santana turned to Finn, a fire burning in her eyes. "Just when I think you can't get any stupider, Finncompetent, you go and practically ring the dinner bell. Weren't you fucking _listening_ when Berry said they were attracted by sound?"

"I'm sorry—" Finn said weakly.

"Lo juro por Dios, if you get any of us killed, I will shoot you in the kneecaps and leave you to the motherfucking zombies!" Santana snarled.

"Don't be ridiculous, Santana," Rachel snapped. Finn beamed. "Just look at him. Do you know how hard it would be to take down a walker that's Finn's size?" Rachel continued. The smile slid off Finn's face.

Mike studied Finn. "Dude, she's right. You'd be a pain in the ass to kill."

"He's a pain in the ass right now!" Puck growled. Finn cowered underneath his glare, pouting when he realized he was not getting any support, not even from Kurt.

"Guys, c'mon. It was an accident," he said weakly.

"And now we're stuck here," Tina said darkly. "Do you see how many walkers are out there?"

"Too many," Brittany supplied sadly. "How are we going to get out?"

"The guns?" Mike suggested.

"Too loud. We'd get swarmed in seconds," Quinn interjected.

"Let's make a run for the entrance. We can run faster than them; we'll just knock them aside. You know, like a blitz in football?" Finn directed the last part to his fellow athletes.

Puck peeked over the counter and blanched at the number of zombies. He gave Finn a flat look. "No. No _fucking_ way."

"I agree with Noah. Instead of getting tackled, we'd get ripped to shreds," Rachel said.

"Are you naturally this stupid, or do you actually have to try?" Santana asked scathingly. "I wouldn't follow you even if I were a zombie trying to eat your empty head and abnormally fleshy body."

"You're about as effective at leadership as Schuester was," Tina quietly added.

An ugly scowl marred Finn's face. "I was captain of the football team and the Glee Club—"

"Newsflash, Finn? This isn't high school anymore," Quinn snapped. "This is life or death."

Finn threw up his arms. "Well, I don't see any of you coming up with ideas!"

Rachel raised her eyebrows when all eyes turned to her. How ironic—before the world ended, she would've killed to be recognized as a leader by her peers. Now she just wanted them to look at someone else—anyone but her.

She jumped when a warm hand slid into her own. She looked questioningly at Quinn, who only raised a reassuring eyebrow. Rachel sighed and shook her head. "I've got nothing."

A heavy silence settled on the group as they realized they were trapped. Rachel shifted restlessly before wresting the backpack off her shoulders and ripping it open. "Why is this bag so heavy?" Her eyes widened in outrage at seeing bottles of liquor. "Whose idea was it to pack _alcohol_?"

Puck shifted guiltily. "It seemed like a waste to leave them there."

Quinn plucked the bottle from her hands and opened it. Rachel watched in disbelief as the blonde put the vodka to her lips and guzzled it. "Quinn!"

"What?" Quinn shrugged. "This is the end, Rachel—we might as well enjoy ourselves."

"That's what I'm talking about, baby mama," Puck agreed, reaching across Rachel to grab his own bottle.

"Oh my God, Santana, put that out right now! What if they smell it?" Kurt hissed disapprovingly.

Rachel turned to see Santana leaning her head against the counter, cigar perched between her lips. "Not a chance, Hummel," Santana muttered back without opening her eyes. "Berry said the walkers can't use their schnoz. If we're dying today, I'm gonna need one last smoke."

"I said they _probably_ don't have a good sense of smell," Rachel murmured. "It's all hypothetical…" Her eyes darted between the bottle of vodka being passed around and Santana's lit cigar.

An idea struck her like lightning.

* * *

><p><em>As you can see, I'm not a fan of Finn. Cory Monteith, yes. Finn Hudson…no. Just no.<em>

_Also, how ridiculously hot is Daryl from The Walking Dead? That man is just unf._

_And lastly, I sent in my first application to college! Wish me luck!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry about the wait. I'm making up the plot as I go along…much like the writers on Glee. Boom, roasted._

* * *

><p>Quinn pushed a strand of hair out of her face and looked at her watch. 10:47 AM, the second day after the world ended. She wished they could've lasted a little longer—pathetic, really, to die on the <em>second<em> day. Coach Sylvester would've had a fit.

Her adrenaline spiked when Rachel suddenly sat up with wide eyes. "What is it?" She asked lowly.

Rachel looked around impatiently and reached for a box of gun cleaning cloth and a used roll of duct tape. "Quinn, pass me a bottle of liquor."

Quinn snatched the bottle out of Puck's hand as it was being raised to his lips, ignoring his quietly indignant "hey!" and handed it to Rachel. She raised an eyebrow at Rachel when she soaked the cloth in vodka.

Once the rag was sufficiently soaked, Rachel stuffed it into the opening of the half-empty bottle and looped it around the neck, securing it with tape before theatrically flourishing the resulting product. "Ta-daa."

Everyone's eyes widened in understanding. "How in the name of Streisand did you even know how to make a Molotov cocktail?" Kurt asked in bewilderment.

"It was one of the skills I learned for New York in case I ever participated in a student demonstration that turned violent. Preparation is key, Kurt." The short speech was so Glee-Club-Rachel and not Zombie-Era-Rachel that everyone cracked a smile.

"Well, shit, Berry. Who knew you could be so badass?" Santana remarked, the cigar hanging loosely from her mouth.

"It looks kinda small and useless to me," Finn muttered doubtfully.

"Like your dick?" Santana snapped back.

"Burn," Brittany added.

"Shut up, Santana," Finn retorted.

"Or what? Gonna knock over another display and get us eaten?"

"_Everyone_ shut up!" Quinn hissed. A zombie shuffling overhead paused and looked around. Everyone held their collective breath. A bead of sweat rolled down Quinn's temple as she prayed for the walker to move on, to not look down, to let them live a little longer.

The undead man swiveled his head for several heart-rending seconds before finally shuffling away from the counter. Quinn let out a sigh of relief and glared at Santana. "God, what part of absolute silence don't you people understand?"

"Gigantor started it," Santana muttered obstinately, exchanging glares with Finn.

Quinn rolled her eyes and turned back to Rachel. The petite brunette was absorbed in her task, the backpack that previously held the liquor now empty next to her. Several Molotov cocktails were already neatly arranged in a row.

Puck picked one up and hefted it in his palm. "So what's the plan? Throw these and hope the motherfuckers burn to death?"

Rachel shook her head. "There's an aisle full of lighter fluid about 10 o'clock of our position." She gestured to the Molotov cocktails. "If we can start a fire, I'm hoping for two things. One, the walkers will be distracted, maybe even killed by it. Two, enough smoke will be created to provide cover before we attempt an escape."

Tina shifted nervously. "Fire is risky, Rachel. There'll be the possibility of smoke inhalation or burning to death."

"Does anyone else have a better alternative?" Rachel replied.

Quinn looked around. Apprehension and fear were painted on their faces, but not yet defeat. That was—well, it wasn't good, but it wasn't totally hopeless either.

"What about just getting away from it all?" Kurt quietly piped up.

Rachel frowned at his haggard face. "That's the plan, Kurt."

"No, I mean—" he held up a handgun. "Take it into our own hands. A quick end with minimal pain. At least then we won't turn into _them_."

There was a stunned silence until Santana barked out, "Oh _hells_ no. Wave that gun in my face and I'll stick it somewhere you would _not_ enjoy."

"For a gay dude, you sure like taking the pussy way out." Puck shook his head.

Tina hesitated. "I would rather shoot…" She swallowed. "I'd rather shoot myself than burn to death."

"I'd rather burn to death than turn into a walker," Mike argued softly.

"And I would rather _live_. Our lives have already been shortened enough as it is, Kurt. I don't plan on making mine even shorter." Rachel raised her eyebrows pointedly at the boy, making him sigh and lower the gun.

"Rachel, if we follow your plan, we might die," Finn protested.

Quinn frowned at him. "If we stay here, we'll die anyway. At least we have a chance at survival with Rachel's plan."

"C'mon, Finn, don't you want to go out with a bang?" Rachel asked, challenge lacing every word. "Don't let Burt and Carol's sacrifice go to waste."

"Low blow, Rachel," Kurt muttered. The brunette shrugged, looking slightly apologetic, but not enough to take it back.

Finn's shoulders slumped. "Okay. Tell me what to do."

Rachel looked at Santana. "Santana, your lighter, please." She took the lighter from Santana's hand and lit one of the homemade bombs before offering it to Finn with a half-smile. "Time to put your football skills to use, Finn."

Fick took it hesitantly. He couldn't stand up to aim because the sight of him would literally be ringing a dinner bell for every zombie in a ten-foot radius. Instead, he wound his arm back and lobbed the Molotov cocktail in what he thought was the direction of the lighter fluid.

There was the telltale crash of broken glass. Quinn could hear the shuffling beyond their hiding spot suddenly halt, but didn't want to risk taking a peek. She bit her lip as Puck and Mike joined Finn in surreptitiously hurling the bombs over the counter, each smash against the linoleum a jolt to her system.

Finn looked to Rachel after the last bottle had been thrown. "Now what?"

Rachel settled back against the counter and drew her knees to her chest. "Now we wait."

Quinn mimicked her position and stared at her shoes. Her mind drifted, thoughts piling up her head like a car crash now that she had the opportunity to just sit and _think_. Why was this happening? Her mother was dead. Her sister, up in Chicago, was probably dead, too. Where were the rest of them? Mercedes, Artie, Sam, Blaine, Mr. Schuester? Beth… Tears prickled Quinn's eyes. God, what happened to Beth? Last she heard, Shelby had gone back to New York, and that place was now the capital of the United States of Zombieland.

She jerked out of her morbid thoughts when something nudged her foot. She raised an eyebrow at Rachel, who stared at her challengingly before deliberately stepping on her foot. Quinn frowned and shifted her foot out from underneath Rachel's, only to have the brunette step on her shoe again. It evolved into a little game of sorts, the unspoken agreement that one of them would have to pin the other's foot for several seconds to be declared winner, at which point a new round would start. It quickly turned more aggressive than was warranted, her foot practically dueling with Rachel's to be the victor. Quinn was so close to winning this round that she could almost taste it when Kurt hissed, "Damn it, Quinn, pin her to the ground already!"

"Wanky," Santana snickered.

Quinn and Rachel immediately stopped. Quinn felt a light blush creep onto her cheeks at seeing everyone staring at them.

"Why'd you stop? It was just getting good," Puck complained.

"Yeah, Q, Berry. I just love watching a rousing game of footsie," Santana drawled sarcastically.

Finn scowled. "They weren't playing footsie! Why would Rachel do that with _Quinn_?"

"Excuse me, I'm right here," Quinn snapped.

"Because your Sasquatch feet would crush Berry's pixie ones, whereas Quinn's feet are more acceptable to human standards," Santana answered him.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "We were _not_ playing footsie. Quinn looked like she needed a distraction."

"Well, consider _me_ distracted," Puck said with a leer.

Quinn backhanded his stomach. "It wasn't sexual at all, you perv!"

Brittany took off her jacket with a puzzled frown. "I don't know, Quinn, I feel weirdly hot from that display. I think I have a foot fetish, San."

Santana paused. "It's not just you, B. I'm feeling kinda warm, too."

Quinn frowned. She just realized how uncomfortably hot the air was, like someone had put the heater on full blast. Her tank top was sticking to her skin and her leather jacket only amplified the heat.

"Oh, shit," Kurt blurted out, the slightest note of hysteria coloring his voice. Quinn looked up to see thick black smoke accumulating above their heads, a dull crackling she somehow only just noticed ringing in her ears.

Rachel peeked over the counter and smiled in excitement. "It's working!"

Quinn peeked over and blanched. "Understatement of the year, Rachel." There was a freaking _wildfire_ blazing through the aisles, and though Quinn knew there were worse things to focus on—like the zombies that were on _fire _and still walking around, somehow—the uncontrolled inferno still sent a thrill of fear through her.

The smell of something indescribably foul triggered her gag reflex. Quinn immediately covered her lower face with her shirt, resisting the urge to vomit. Puck gagged and glared at Finn. "Dude, I know you're scared and shit, but warn a brother before letting one rip."

Finn, also holding his nose, gave Puck an offended look. "Wasn't me, man."

"Burning flesh," Rachel informed them with a sickened look. "The walkers are on fire."

The flames were being spread more quickly than anticipated, spread by the zombies heedless of their burning clothes. Quinn flinched when shrill ringing rent the air in two. The sprinklers above burst into life, showering everyone with water.

"Time to go," Rachel noted. She strapped on a backpack and tightened her grip on her axe. "Run in a crouch—the air will be cleaner closer to the ground. Try not to inhale too much smoke, and don't get left behind—I'm not waiting for anyone. Countdown from three, okay?" She took in everyone's nod. "Three, two, one, go!" She jumped over the counter and dashed away.

As far as pep talks went, it wasn't the greatest, but Quinn followed her anyway. The heat hit her like a tangible force, and her eyes immediately began watering from the smoke. Heeding Rachel's advice, she kept her head and torso low and sprinted after the other girl. She had no idea if anyone behind her was keeping up, her eyes trained only on the back of the brunette ahead of her.

Quinn was almost to the entrance when a walker stepped in her path, still uttering moans from a damaged larynx even when its lower body was on fire. She hesitated, wondering if killing it or running around it would be faster, when Puck barreled past her and body-checked the zombie with his shoulder. Years of football practice sent the walker flying through the air. Not even pausing, Quinn sprinted through the entrance and took in huge gulps of fresh air before turning to Puck. "Thanks."

He winked at her with a smoke-reddened eye. "I got your back, Q."

"Let's move, people!" Rachel bellowed from the driver's seat. Zombies that had been lingering in the parking lot were converging on their position.

"Damn, girl's got a set of lungs," Puck grumbled before darting away to help a coughing Finn as he emerged from the building.

Quinn spun around to see if everyone had made it out. Tina and Mike were dragging Kurt between them toward her, and Santana and Brittany were following Finn and Puck to a car she recognized as Kurt's monster SUV. Quinn darted to the passenger side and slid in.

Once Tina, Mike, and Kurt tumbled into the backseat, Rachel stepped on the gas pedal. The screech of tires echoed in the air as Rachel's car shot out of the parking lot, quickly followed by Kurt's SUV.

As soon as they hit the road, Rachel glanced back at her passengers. "Is everyone alright?"

"Just peachy," Kurt rasped out.

"Dude, don't sugarcoat it. Tina and I had to practically carry you," Mike chided.

Kurt shrugged off their concerned looks. "I landed on my ankle wrong. It's probably fine. It'll straighten out on its own."

Quinn looked at him unsurely, but Kurt only gave her a wavering smile. Her attention was diverted when there was a burst of static and a voice emitted from the backpack in her lap. "Hello? Anyone there?"

Quinn unzipped the bag and dug through it before pulling out a walkie-talkie. "Puck?"

The handheld device crackled to life. "It's working! Fucking A." Puck's voice was distant, presumably talking to the people around him. His voice became louder. "Quinn! What's your status? Over. "

Quinn looked around. "Kurt twisted his ankle, but we're otherwise fine. You?"

"I'm more than fine, babe." There was a muffled smack and a sharp voice. "Ow! And Lezpez said to ask Rachel where we're headed. Over."

Quinn raised her eyebrows at Rachel. The brunette shrugged and admitted, "I have no idea."

Quinn raised the walkie-talkie to her lips. "She has no idea."

"Shit, no kidding? That sucks. Oh, and remind me to teach you ladies some radio etiquette—gotta end every sentence with 'over,' Quinn. Over."

Rachel snorted. "I never thought Puck and etiquette would ever belong in the same sentence."

The walkie-talkie crackled. "Listen up, bitches, I need to know where we headed. If Britts and I have to stay any longer in this car with Dumb and Dumber, I _will_ cut someone."

"We could go to my lake house," Tina suddenly suggested.

"How far is it?" Kurt asked.

"About two hours from here. It's pretty isolated. There's a town about half an hour away, but it's small, so I think we'd be secure."

Rachel furrowed her brow. "How many floors, doors, and windows? Would we be able to protect it?"

"Two floors. The doors can be easily boarded up, and there's a veranda on the second floor. It's a good place," Tina assured. "The lake will be our greatest asset. Water for drinking and washing, and I know how to fish, so we won't be completely screwed when the canned food runs out."

"Sounds good to me," Mike murmured. Kurt nodded.

Quinn quirked an eyebrow when Rachel looked at her. "I'm in if you are."

"Okay." Rachel nodded toward the walkie-talkie. "Let Santana know before she commits homicide."

Quinn relayed the information to Santana before settling back in her seat. Tina was leaning forward and quietly giving Rachel directions, Kurt had his eyes closed with a pained grimace, and Mike was staring out the window. Quinn yawned as exhaustion suddenly hit her like a freight train. She fought to keep her eyes open, but was losing the battle spectacularly. She closed her eyes, promising to rest them only for a few minutes…

The next time Quinn opened her eyes, the car was pulling up at a quaint, two-story cabin surrounded by green forest, the blue of the lake visible in the gaps between the trees.

Sanctuary. For now.

* * *

><p><em>Okay, I lied in the beginning note. This story has some semblance of a plot, as in I have an ending in mind and I know who's going to die…(It's a zombie fic, someone has to!) but other than that, I'm winging it. I'm curious to see if there's any character in particular y'all would like to see, so lemme know!<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_Apologies for the wait. I hope I haven't lost anyone along the way!_

* * *

><p>Rachel cut the engine and stared up at Tina's lake house. Fairly large, but not overly so. Its proximity to the lake was a bonus, but the ground floor was all glass doors and windows—those would have to be covered. She could see several other lake homes some distance away through the trees and frowned. It wasn't exactly vacation season anymore, but they'd have to check out those houses for walkers anyway.<p>

She turned her head to see Quinn had blinked awake. "Good nap?"

"Yeah." Quinn frowned guiltily. "Sorry."

Rachel waved away her concern. "Don't be. You deserved it." She grabbed her axe and jumped out of the car. The sound of a car pulling up behind her alerted her to the others' arrival. She turned just in time to see a large blur shoot out of the passenger side of the other car. Rachel identified it as Finn by the thundering footsteps and a panicked voiced shouting, "Jesus, I have to _pee_!"

"Announce it to the entire world, why don't you?" Santana snapped as she jumped out of the car, adjusting the backpack straps on her shoulders. Brittany stifled a yawn, the crossbow dangling loosely from her hand.

Rolling her eyes, Rachel turned to take stock. Everyone looked grimy and exhausted. Rubbing her hands over her face, Rachel groaned. She could almost feel the dark circles underneath her eyes.

Finn emerged from the bushes with a visibly relieved sigh. Rachel narrowed her eyes at him. "Finn, did you even take your bat with you?"

"Uh, no?"

"Oh, he did—just not the one you're thinking of," Puck said with a smirk.

"I don't even know what that means, Noah, nor do I want to know." Rachel shook her head at him before turning back to scowl at Finn. "You have to be aware of your surroundings at all times! What if there were walkers in the bushes?"

"They'd immediately lose their appetites at seeing him with his dick out," Santana promptly suggested.

"It's not my fault, Rach." Finn pointed accusingly at Puck. "_He_ didn't pull over when I had to go an hour ago!"

"Dude, we're in a fucking zombie wasteland. You want me to find you some toilet paper and wipe your ass for you, too?" Puck scoffed. "Besides, I told you to go in a bottle."

"Yeah, but then Santana said she'd cut my dick off if I did!" Finn protested.

"Classy, Santana," Rachel deadpanned.

Santana shot her a wicked grin. "I'm just keeping it real. Besides, not like you're gonna be using it any time soon."

"Wait, what?" Finn whipped around to look at Rachel.

"That's not the point!" Rachel ignored him, shooting Santana a dirty look. The dark-haired girl snickered in response.

"I hate to break up this little lovefest, but I'd appreciate if we could go inside now," Quinn growled. She and Mike each had one of Kurt's arms looped around their necks, supporting him as he hobbled unsteadily over the ground.

Rachel turned to Tina. "Is there a way in?"

"Follow me." Tina led the group up the porch steps and turned the 'Welcome' mat over to reveal a key. "Good thing zombies can't use keys, huh?" She weakly joked, unlocking the door and slowly pushing it open.

"Anyone inside?" Rachel whispered to Tina, her voice lowered to an involuntary whisper.

Tina hesitated. "My family hires a housekeeper to check on the house once a month during the school year. She was supposed to come this week…"

"Ladies first?" Puck joked weakly. He blanched when every girl shot him a murderous look. The group hovered on the threshold, aware that probably nothing was waiting for them inside, but still reluctant to enter.

"Let's go, putas. Time's a-wasting," Santana drawled, casting a nervous look around the clearing behind them.

"You three," Rachel pointed at Quinn, Mike, and Kurt, "stay outside and keep watch. Santana, Brittany, and Puck, take the ground floor. Tina, Finn, and I will search upstairs."

"Got it, Boss." Puck mock-saluted. Rachel rolled her eyes at him and slowly walked up the stairs, straining her ears for any sounds that might indicate another presence.

"Finn, back up a bit. I need space to move," she heard Tina hiss behind her.

"Sorry."

Their footsteps seemed to be extra loud against the wood floors. Rachel almost had to force herself to take a step forward, hesitating every time they came upon an open door.

The upstairs floor thankfully turned out to be zombie-free. Though, Rachel didn't know if that proved to be any consolation for Tina, whose face contorted in grief as she stared at an empty bed covered with rocket-patterned sheets, placed against the blue walls of a little boy's room.

"C'mon." She tugged gently at Tina's elbow. Tina turned away to wipe away tears before turning back to nod at the brunette.

Both girls jumped at a loud crash and whipped around, ready to confront any zombie bent on eating them. Instead, Finn stared at them sheepishly in front of the closet door he had opened, a jumble of toys and space models at his feet. "My bad."

"Finn!" Rachel scowled darkly at him as he scooped up a pair of binoculars from the mess and peered through them.

Tina chuckled wryly. "It's not his fault. My brother was never the neatest kid." There was a heavy silence before she cleared her throat. "The top floor is secure, so why don't I show you the deck?"

Rachel followed Tina to the outdoor deck. Her jaw dropped at seeing the expansive lake stretching before them. "Whoa," Finn muttered behind them. "Nice digs, Tina."

Rachel looked down. The deck had a staircase leading to the ground, but it was narrow and thus easy to defend. A large shed was placed near the shoreline and a wooden dock extended out into the lake. "Perfect."

Tina looked visibly relieved. "Oh, good. I was worried you might think it would be a bad idea to hole up here."

"Not at all." Rachel smiled reassuringly at her. "It's not as isolated as I'd like, but like you said, the lake will be our greatest asset."

"There are canoes in the shed. I'll teach everyone how to fish if we get the chance," Tina murmured.

"Rachel." Finn's voice wavered.

"What?" She turned to see him looking at something through the binoculars.

"Look." He handed her the binoculars and pointed down the shoreline. Rachel brought the binoculars up to her eyes. A few miles away, a figure was shuffling toward their direction. From its bowed head and stilted footsteps, she was guessing it wasn't human.

"What is it?" Tina asked tensely.

Rachel handed the binoculars to her and offered a strained smile. "The vantage point up here is excellent, Tina. It's a good lookout spot."

Tina brought them up to her face and let out a tremulous laugh. "Not the welcoming committee, I'm guessing."

"It's pretty far away. If we just leave it alone, it might wander off," Finn suggested to Rachel.

"We'll see," she replied shortly before turning on her heel and disappearing into the house.

Finn rolled his eyes and looked to Tina. "I don't get how Rachel's the leader all of a sudden."

"She's always been the leader," Tina glibly replied, surreptitiously looking around for anyone to save her from this awkward conversation.

"Yeah, but no one's actually listened to her before." Finn scowled when Tina only shrugged and brushed past him to follow Rachel.

_-000-000-_

Now assembled in the living room, the motley crew that remained of New Directions stared at her expectantly. Rachel sighed. "What?"

"Well..." Puck made a vague gesture. "We're here. Now what?"

Right. No rest for the weary. Or the wicked. She was pretty sure that they were the weary, and the infected were the wicked, and so that basically meant there was no rest for anyone. Glorious.

"Rachel?" Quinn prompted, frowning at the glazed look that appeared on Rachel's face.

Rachel snapped out of her random train of thought and looked around. "We need information. We don't know how many people are still alive, or if other countries are also affected. Considering the relative security of this place, I think we should stay here until a better alternative comes along." She unzipped the duffel bag holding the guns and began pulling them out. "Does anyone have experience with guns?"

Brittany raised her hand excitedly. "Me, Rachel! I've never used one 'cause that's how Bambi's mom died, but I know how they work."

Rachel nodded. "I've picked a few things up from my daddy, but I only know how to use his shotgun. Do you know how either of these work?" She gestured to the handguns and rifles.

Brittany bounded forward to scoop up a handgun. "Loading this is super easy. Think of if like a Pez dispenser. You press this button so you can put in the candy." The magazine of the gun slid out into Brittany's hand. She picked up a box of bullets and rattled it. "You can't use candy that's too big or else they'll get stuck, so only use the ones that say 9mm on the box. Then you put it back in the gun and you're done!" Brittany slapped the magazine back in before aiming it around the room, causing most of them to yelp and duck.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Relax, bitches. Papa Pierce was with the po-po. Brit knows what she's doing."

"Thanks, Brittany." Rachel shot her a brief smile. "Everyone should carry at least two weapons—one firearm and one weapon for hand-to-hand combat. I think we have enough ammo to use as target practice later."

Puck immediately snatched up a shotgun and cradled it to his chest. "Mine. A big gun for a big man."

"Overcompensating for something, Puckerman?" Santana snickered. Puck flipped her off.

The others were slightly more composed in choosing their weaponry. Rachel absentmindedly watched Quinn as she peered through the scope of a deer rifle, hazel eyes squinting in concentration and blonde hair falling in her face. There was something ethereally beautiful about the other girl, and while Rachel really didn't consider herself a shallow person, she wasn't blind, either. So the image of Quinn, with her self-assured confidence and leather jacket, handling the rifle like a pro, was actually kind of…_hot._

She jumped when a pair of fingers snapped in front of her face. "Earth to Berry. Come in, Berry," Santana deadpanned. "Houston, there seems to be no sign of intelligent life anywhere."

Rachel swatted Santana's hand away with a slight blush. Everyone had just seen her staring at Quinn—including the blonde herself, if her raised eyebrow was any indication.

Kurt arched an eyebrow. "We've been calling your name a bazillion times. I hope you're not going deaf."

"No. I was lost in thought," Rachel quickly defended.

Brittany nodded in understanding. "My thoughts get lost all the time."

"So what next? I want to test my baby out." Puck lovingly stroked the barrel of his shotgun.

Rachel bit her lip in thought, a rough plan of action coming together in her head.

Step One: Fortify the Fort. "First, we need to get rid of all of that," she gestured toward the large windows and sliding glass door.

"I agree. The glass clashes with the rustic atmosphere—absolutely atrocious." Kurt used both hands to prop up his swollen ankle on the wooden coffee table.

"Hey!" Tina frowned at him.

"Shut it, Martha Stewart," Santana grumbled.

"It's too exposed. We'll use the deck upstairs as the main entrance and the front door as an emergency exit. All other doors and windows on the ground level get boarded up." Rachel looked to Tina. "Where can we get supplies for that?"

"There are tools in my shed. The wooden planks you can rip up from the dock, I suppose. We won't really need it," Tina answered.

Rachel turned to Puck. "Noah, you have construction work experience, right?"

Puck flexed his bicep. "Hell yeah. Community service for juvie, babe."

"Then you'll be in charge of fortification. Use the planks at the end of the dock first. Finn will help you," Rachel ordered.

Finn crossed his arms. "And that's it? I get no say in anything?"

Everyone gave him a strange look. Rachel shrugged. "No. Tina and Mike, will you—"

"Okay, I've had enough, Rachel," Finn interrupted. "You were always a bossy girlfriend, but this is going too far."

"Excuse me?" Rachel demanded.

"I mean, who made you the leader? This is a dem—a demo—"

"A democracy, genius?" Quinn growled.

"Yeah! I propose we should elect a leader, you know?" Finn demanded.

"And I veto that proposal. But in case that doesn't get the idea that you would suck balls as a leader through your thick head, let's put it to a vote. Who wants Berry on top?" Santana raised her hand, smirking at a fuming Finn when everyone else followed suit.

"That would be hot. I can totally see Rachel as a top," Brittany whispered to Santana.

Rachel raised an eyebrow. "Since you're so opposed to my plan, Finn, what do _you _think we should do?"

"We board up all the windows and doors," Finn promptly responded.

"What a novel idea," Quinn commented sarcastically.

"Then?" Rachel prodded.

"We wait. The army or the Coast Guard or whoever will find us soon," he finished proudly.

Rachel narrowed her eyes. "And if they don't come?"

"They will," Finn assured her.

"Finn, the chance of rescue is slim to none. Besides that, how is your plan different from mine in any way?" Rachel asked in exasperation.

"Because I'm a guy!" Finn nearly shouted, throwing his hands up.

Rachel's jaw dropped. "Are you kidding me? You're opposing my plan because your tiny, misogynistic brain can't cope with female leadership? Grow up, Finn!"

"I don't know what misogynistic means, but yeah! Guys are faster and stronger. It's, like, science!" Finn protested. He recoiled when everyone began to shout at him.

Quinn advanced with a snarl and jabbed a finger in his chest. "Is that right? Then explain to me why more than half of us here are girls! Or why you were perfectly content to follow Rachel when we were surrounded by zombies!" She grabbed Finn's collar and yanked him to her eye level, her voice cold and low. "I'm going to follow someone who's going to keep me _alive. _It doesn't matter if that person is a male or female, at long as it's not an uneducated Neanderthal like you!"

Santana laughed derisively. "Congratulations, Finn, you just showed everyone what an asshole you truly are."

"Seconded," Tina added.

"Thirded," Kurt chimed in.

"I'm fourth!" Brittany bounced on her toes.

Finn turned to Puck. "Puck, back me up!"

Puck looked unamused. "No way, man. Jewbabe and Satan saved my freaking _life_, which is more than you've done. You're being a total douche right now."

Shouting filled the room as Finn pushed Puck, who stumbled before shoving him back twice as hard. Mike and Brittany had their arms around a cursing Santana, who was lunging toward Finn to join the fray.

Rachel sighed in aggravation and put two fingers in her mouth, letting loose a sharp whistle to shut everyone up.

"Whoa, cool trick." Puck looked impressed.

"And yet another reason Rachel should lead," Kurt said primly. "Finn, I love you like a brother, but please stop. You're embarrassing yourself."

Quinn raised an eyebrow at Finn. "There's your democracy, Finn. Looks like you lose."

"But don't feel bad, Finnept. A lot of people have no talent," Santana said brightly.

Finn threw up his hands in disgust and stormed toward the back door. He paused when Rachel called out, "And Finn?" She smiled sweetly at him. "Consider me your bossy _ex_-girlfriend."

"Ouch, burn," Mike said cheerfully. Finn sputtered incoherently before stomping outside.

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Noah, go after him and make sure he doesn't get killed—we saw a walker a few miles away headed in this direction. And can you get started on securing the house?"

"Sure thing. I'll kick Finn's ass until he gets his shit together," Puck offered.

"That won't be necessary. Finn tends to be a team player after getting over his juvenile temper tantrums."

"Still doesn't make him any less annoying," Quinn grumbled. Puck nodded in agreement before following Finn out the door.

"Now that we've settled that…" Rachel racked a round into her daddy's shotgun.

Step Two: Patrol the Perimeters. "The neighboring houses are bound to have supplies we can use. The more we stock up, the better. We'll split up into pairs to search the houses."

"Is doing that safe?" Tina asked cautiously.

"It'll be _safer_ than going in alone, and faster than going in a group," Rachel explained. "You just need to watch each other's back."

"Hey, Kurt, you don't look so good," Mike suddenly said. The other boy looked pale and strained, a light sheen of sweat covering his brow.

"I'm fine," Kurt gritted out. "Ankle just hurts."

"Let me see." Santana crouched next to Kurt and untied his boot, gingerly slipping it off. "Trust you to wear designer shoes during the apocalypse."

"They were the first shoes I grabbed," Kurt weakly protested. At Santana's disapproving _tsk_, he blanched. "Tell me the truth—will I ever walk again?"

Santana stared at him incredulously. "Are you kidding me? It's just a sprain."

"How do you know? It feels like someone ripped my foot off and tried to glue it back on."

"It's a sprain, not an amputation, Hummel," Santana scoffed.

"San knows what she's talking about. She took M&M classes," Brittany assured.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. "M&M? Like the candy?" Rachel stifled a laugh as an image of Santana in an M&M costume floated into mind. She would probably be the anthropomorphic red one; he was sarcastic and snarky, the very definition of Santana.

"She means EMT," Santana explained impatiently. "And my dad made me take a couple classes at his hospital. It's no big deal."

"Actually, that might just come in handy," Rachel mused. If Santana could be their medic, that would be invaluable. She resolved to look for medical manuals in the neighboring houses.

"Rachel, we should get going. I don't want to be stuck out there when night falls," Quinn interjected.

Right. Yes. "Santana, can you fix Kurt's ankle?" Rachel asked.

"I _can_, but I _won't_ until he stops being a drama queen." Santana glared at Kurt. He threw his hands up in the air. "Oh, fine. Do your thing, Satan. I won't make a peep."

Rachel handed Brittany the binoculars and a flare gun. "You're the lookout, Brittany. If there's trouble, give us a sign. We'll see you later." She gestured for Quinn, Tina, and Mike to follow her.

"If any of you get bitten, don't bother coming back," Santana yelled after them.

"I'm really feeling the love," Rachel grumbled to Quinn.

Quinn smirked at her. "Actually, that was Santana being affectionate."

"Be still my heart," Rachel said dryly.

Quinn chuckled. "By the way, good move on your part to leave Brittany behind. Santana gets separation anxiety."

"Why, thank you. Though, that crossbow of hers would certainly have been useful on this venture."

"Not to be rude, Rachel, Quinn," Tina interrupted, "but when did you two become so close?"

"Persistence, dear friend, is key. In the end, Quinn simply couldn't resist my charm and offers of friendship."

The blonde rolled her eyes. "Rachel grows on you. Like mold."

"Ah." Mike nodded.

Rachel's indignant protest was cut off by a drawn-out moan. The four looked up to see a zombie, bone protruding from under its kneecap, limping toward them as fast as it could.

"Oh, fuck," Rachel heard Tina utter softly behind her. Rachel flinched when the sharp retort of a gun sounded right next to her. The walker immediately crumpled to the ground, a neat hole in the middle of its forehead. Rachel turned with wide eyes to look at Quinn, who was still peering through the scope of her rifle like her life depended on it.

"Nice, Quinn!" Mike sounded impressed. "How'd you do that?"

Quinn looked stunned. "I don't know. Lucky shot, I guess."

"Holy crap, that was loud," Tina said with a wince. "I hope nothing heard that—"

They whipped around at the sound of breaking glass. The house on their left looked similar to Tina's, a glass back door revealing the interior of the ground floor. Rachel supposed the house would have been pretty, but the zombie scrabbling at the glass to reach them ruined the whole effect for her. The glass was quickly giving way, the zombie's arm already groping at them through a jagged hole in the glass.

"You had to say it, didn't you?" Rachel said dryly to Tina.

"Oh, fuck," Tina repeated in a more annoyed tone.

"Friend of yours?" Rachel asked, keeping her eyes on the blood staining the zombie's lower face. Blood was bad. Blood meant that the zombie had bitten someone, which meant yet another zombie staggering around looking for more people to bite. A vicious cycle, indeed.

"Mr. Murphy. I hated him." Tina eyed the zombie distastefully. "I know I should be sorry he's a zombie, but he was the biggest asshole you could ever ask for as a neighbor."

Rachel shrugged. "Whatever makes it easier to kill him."

"Mike and I got this. You guys can search the next house." Tina walked toward the zombie, pulling out her pistol as she did so. Mike quickly wished them luck before following after his girlfriend.

"They seem to be adjusting fairly well," Rachel commented as she and Quinn headed for the next house. They paused briefly at hearing a faint, "Sorry, Ryan," before a gunshot sounded.

"Aren't we all, considering the circumstances?" Quinn continued walking, swinging the rifle over her shoulder and taking out her pistol as they approached the house.

Rachel eyed the blonde. She couldn't say _everyone_ was reacting well to the situation (and by everyone, she meant Finn) but that certainly couldn't be said for Quinn. The other girl remained calm under pressure, which was something she could appreciate.

Still, Rachel began to feel that now-familiar knot of fear and dread in her stomach as they reached the door. Even if she and Quinn were highly-trained Navy SEALS and not two teenage girls who had almost no experience with guns, the slightest mistake would still cost them their lives.

As Quinn slowly pushed the door open, Rachel frowned in thought. What was the final stage of her plan again? Oh, right.

Step 3: Stay the Fuck Alive.

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><p><em>Worth the wait? I hope so...I'll try not to take so bloody freakin' long with the next chapter. :)<em>


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks so much for reviews! I read them for motivation when my writing gets stalled, so I appreciate it!_

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><p>Quinn never thought an open door could ever make her nervous, but now, as she trained the gun at the door with trembling hands, it was the most terrifying thing in the world. There was something about not knowing what could be lurking in the next room that put her on edge. Even though Quinn <em>knew<em> they had just checked those rooms, she was hearing phantom footsteps, the labored breathing, the low, animalistic growls of an imaginary walker waiting outside …

Behind her, she could hear Rachel rummaging around some stranger's study, searching for things they could use back at the lake house. Quinn licked her dry lips. "Are you done?"

Her heartbeat accelerated, practically going from zero to sixty, when an elbow nudged her. "I'm ready," Rachel said casually, shouldering the heavy backpack she'd be carrying.

Quinn spotted thick textbooks peeking through the zipper and raised an eyebrow. "You got…books?"

"Medical texts," Rachel clarified. "For Santana."

Quinn's other eyebrow rose to join the first. "Santana? I can't remember the last time she voluntarily picked up a book."

"Be as that may, Santana is the closest thing we have to a doctor right now. She's the only one out of all of us to have any experience whatsoever," Rachel said as they silently made their way through the house. "Besides, it'll give her something to do. We'll all need distractions to keep us from going insane."

Quinn's thoughts flashed to her mother and felt sick. "You really think so? Everyone seems to be adjusting well enough."

Rachel shrugged. "We're breaking and entering into homes while the dead are walking outside. Anything's possible, Quinn."

They entered the kitchen. Rachel opened the cabinets and began to stuff another bag with cans of food.

"You do realize we have to carry this all back?" Quinn grumbled at the shorter brunette as she kneeled to help Rachel.

"This is the last house on this side of the lake—I don't want to have to come back. Besides, we don't know how long until we're rescued; the more food, the better," Rachel retorted.

Quinn reached into the cabinet and came out with a glass jar of canned prunes. She eyed it in distaste. "Gross. We'll give this to Finn—he looks perpetually constipated, anyway." She let several seconds of silence slide by before looking up at Rachel. "Do you really believe that?"

"What, that Finn's always constipated? I hope not; it can't be too good for his bowels—"

Quinn rolled her eyes with a chuckle. "No, do you think we'll be rescued?"

"Oh." Rachel's hands stilled, and she refused to look at Quinn. "Of course. I predict we'll be here for a month, two months tops, before someone comes looking for us."

"Someone who's dead and wants to eat us, maybe," Quinn muttered. "I'm not stupid, Berry. No one's left out there to look for us—if there were, you wouldn't be making me take these stupid fucking prunes." She placed the jar on the counter, far away from her.

"Hey, that's rude. What've those prunes done to you?" Rachel deflected.

"Rachel." Quinn scowled.

Rachel immediately turned somber. "I'm not saying there's absolutely no chance of being rescued, Quinn…but it's not likely. You saw how quickly how Lima was overrun, and it's not even a big city compared to Los Angeles or New York. I don't know how long we'll be here, hence the food." She shook the jar of mayonnaise in her hand.

"Delicious," Quinn deadpanned.

"Beggars can't be choosers." Rachel shot her a grin. "Besides, I thought we could eat the perishable items first before moving on to the canned goods."

"And when those run out?"

"Maybe someone will have a green thumb. Either that, or we'll resort to cannibalism." Rachel tried to smile, but winced at Quinn's unamused look. "Too soon?"

"Too soon," Quinn affirmed. She paused. "But if we did, who would we eat first?"

Rachel's lips quirked up. "Well, you and I would be last—" She immediately stopped talking when a soft thump was heard. "Did you hear that?"

Quinn nodded and listened intently. There—her blood ran cold at hearing the slow, telltale shuffle-step of the walking dead coming directly from the direction of the living room. Quinn instinctively grabbed Rachel's elbow and tugged her behind the island counter just as a pale, blood-soaked figure appeared in the doorway. Her heart was practically pounding out of her chest; beside her, Rachel was quietly taking deep breaths before turning to face her.

"Quinn! You left the front door open!" She hissed furiously.

Quinn's jaw dropped in outrage. "Me? You were the last one inside!"

"I wouldn't be irresponsible enough to forget!"

"Oh, and you're saying I am?"

While Quinn's reflexes saved them from being noticed by the walker, it also left their weapons lying several feet away. Though, with the sound of unsteady footsteps dragging against the tiles, their weapons might as well have been hundreds of miles away.

Quinn could see Rachel calculating the risk of going for the guns and frantically shook her head at the other girl.

The shuffling grew closer, and the two girls began to inch around the counter. Quinn silently cursed as they were forced to move further away from their weapons.

"I'll distract the walker. You circle around and grab the guns," Quinn murmured.

Rachel nodded. Quinn took a deep breath and jumped up, flinching at the sight of a plump woman with a bloody, shredded leg on the other side of the counter. The walker turned around to stare at Quinn with milky eyes before baring bloody teeth in a snarl.

"Oh my God," Quinn muttered before waving her arms. "Hey! Over here!" She began to walk backwards as the zombie limped toward her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rachel scramble for her gun and stand up. "Shoot, Rachel!"

Rachel pulled the trigger. Quinn felt her stomach drop when nothing happened. "Rachel, shoot!" She yelled, scrambling around the counter as the walker steadily followed her. It was almost like 'Duck, Duck, Goose,' except a more twisted version called 'Oh Fuck There's A Zombie Chasing Me.'

"It's jammed!" Rachel shouted before realizing her mistake. Sound was bad—very, very bad. The walker turned away from Quinn and stumbled toward her instead.

Quinn let out a cry of frustration and grabbed the nearest thing to her—the jar of prunes on the counter—and smashed it as hard as she could on the walker's head. It dropped to the floor with a thud, glass shards sticking out of its skull. Rachel scooped up the pistol as the zombie attempted to rise and fired two shots into its head, permanently dispatching it.

"Nice going, Quinn," Rachel said weakly. "Guess you really hated those prunes, huh?"

Quinn stared at the re-dead zombie in shock. "I'll shut the front door," she mumbled, exiting the kitchen and passing through the living room. She stopped at seeing the front door was closed, her brow furrowing in confusion. "It's still shut—"

She let out a strangled shriek when something suddenly grabbed her ankle. Quinn looked down to see a walker with its lower spine visibly snapped, bone protruding through the skin of its back. The zombie groaned and tried to pull Quinn toward its blood-covered mouth. She quickly yanked her foot out of the dead man's grasp and brought her leg back to kick the zombie in the head as hard as she could, causing its head to snap back with a nasty crack. Rachel strolled up and casually put a bullet through the brain of this one, too.

"Gross," Quinn muttered, looking down at the flecks of brain and bone that now covered her shoes. "Where'd they even come from?"

Rachel looked around and spotted an open door connecting to the garage. She shook her head disparagingly at herself. "We forgot to check the garage. The first walker must've heard us and pushed the door open."

Quinn stepped over the body on the floor and walked into the garage. A car was parked haphazardly on the driveway, the driver's side door open and the key in the ignition. She leaned down to scrutinize the crimson stains smeared on the front grille of the car and on the pavement.

Rachel carefully surveyed the scene. "I think the woman hit the guy, who was already a walker, with her car as she was coming out and broke his spine. She got out of the car to check on him and he grabbed her like he did with you, except she wasn't so lucky. He chomped on her leg for a bit, she probably died from blood loss before turning, and both of them heard us in the kitchen."

"Well, at least we've got a car now." Quinn threw her bags into the back and climbed into the passenger seat. Rachel followed suit, turning the key in the ignition and smiling in satisfaction as the engine roared to life.

The trek back to the house took a considerably shorter amount of time now that they had a vehicle. Quinn let her hand hang out the window as they drove along the shoreline, the wind rushing through the gaps between her fingers and tousling her hair. As they neared the lakehouse (their home now, Quinn supposed), she could see Puck and Finn putting the last finishing touches on the boards now covering up the windows. On the balcony above, Brittany was looking in their direction through a pair of binoculars. The taller blonde waved frantically at them. Quinn smiled at the enthusiastic welcome and waved back.

Puck looked up as the car pulled up and nodded at them. "Sup Q, Rach. Find anything good?"

"Food, medical supplies. Some walkers," Quinn replied glibly. "Tina and Mike back yet?"

"They just got in before you, about five minutes ago."

Rachel let out a sigh of relief before scrutinizing the boarded windows with an impressed look. "Looks good, gentlemen. You guys did well."

"Damn straight I did," Puck boasted.

"I helped, too!" Finn protested, any previous animosity he held toward the girls having seemingly vanished. _Simple minds, simple pleasures_, Quinn thought.

"Whatever, dude," Puck dismissed.

The two boys began to bicker. Quinn rolled her eyes and entered the house, unceremoniously dropping her duffel bags on the floor. "We're back."

Mike poked his head out of the kitchen. "Awesome! You guys get a lot of stuff?"

"Mostly food," Rachel said, following Quinn into the kitchen. Dozens of cans of food were already piled up on the floor. Santana and Kurt sat around the table, Kurt's foot propped up on Santana's lap as she wound medical tape around it.

"Us, too. We also got more clothes and medical supplies," Tina said. "There's nothing much in the way of weapons, though."

"Then I guess we'll have to make our bullets count until we find a gun store," Rachel replied. "We did get a present for Santana, though."

Santana looked up. "Ooh, gimme. 'Bout time everyone realized I'm the greatest person here—besides Brittany, obviously."

Quinn snorted. "Even when she's not here, you're still unbelievably whipped."

"Shut up, Quinn, no one asked you." Santana shoved Kurt's foot off her lap and gestured for him to stand up. "Alright, Twinkle Toes, how's it feel?"

Kurt gingerly took a step forward before looking at her with gratitude and disbelief. "Well, color me impressed, Satan. I would've pegged Brittany as the healer between you two—who knew you were as good at fixing things up as you are at destroying them?"

"I knew," Brittany declared as she bounded into the kitchen. She settled herself into Santana's lap and pointed a finger at Kurt. "I demand you show my awesome girlfriend a little more respect, Kurt. Without her, you'd be a crippled unicorn.  
>Brittany leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, "And do you know what happens to a crippled unicorn?"<p>

Kurt warily shook his head. Crystal blue eyes gleamed dangerously at him. "It has to be put down." Brittany leaned back, immediately resuming her jovial demeanor. "But of course, thanks to Santana, that won't be necessary!"

Santana smiled into Brittany's neck. "Thanks, babe."

"Sickening," Quinn muttered with a smile as Brittany planted a kiss on Santana's cheek before grabbing a can of Sprite and leaving.

Kurt blinked. "That was…actually kind of scary."

"I guess Santana's rubbing off on her," Mike commented.

"Okay, first of all, wanky," Santana stated. "Second, my girl's always been fierce."

"Good news in times like these," Tina remarked.

"Speaking of good news…" Rachel took the medical textbooks out of her bag with a flourish and presented them to Santana. "Here."

Santana stared at them before giving Rachel a deadpan stare. "I'm illiterate."

"Hilarious. You're the closest thing we have to a doctor," Rachel reminded.

"You're right, that _is_ funny. The most I can do is put in an IV, maybe even stitch up a cut." Santana waved a hand at the books. "I'm not cut out for this textbook-reading doctor shit. Do I look like House to you?"

"No, you look like Santana Lopez, the girl who doesn't take crap from anyone and can do anything she puts her mind to," Rachel calmly replied.

"Remember when you gave me mono without infecting yourself? Or when you knew what to do when Mercedes got food poisoning? You're naturally good at that medical kind of stuff, even if you _were_ a huge bitch with that mono stunt," Quinn said encouragingly.

"Fucking bullshit pep-talkers," Santana grumbled, but accepted the textbooks anyway. "I'll give it a shot, but no promises," she warned. "And, uh, sorry about the mono. I'm not apologizing to Finn, though."

"Water under the bridge. Point is, I _believe_ in you," Quinn said solemnly before giving her a mischievous grin.

Santana immediately grimaced, knowing what was coming from years of experience. "Q, don't do it—"

"_Don't stop belieeeevin',_" Quinn softly crooned.

"_Hold on to the feeeeelin',"_ Rachel immediately jumped in.

"_Streetlight peooople,_" Quinn finished off melodically. Tina and Mike chuckled.

"God, you're as bad as Streisand over here," Santana complained, trying to hide a grin as she shoved Quinn.

"I resent that, Santana," Rachel said drily.

"Was that the ever ass-kicking Journey I just heard?" Puck asked as he came into the kitchen. "Man, talk about a throwback."

"Are you guys done securing the exterior?" Rachel demanded.

"From top to bottom, Captain. The big bad wolf won't get into this house," Puck said triumphantly.

"I could use some food, though." Finn looked at Rachel hopefully.

"Mike and I can make dinner," Tina volunteered. "Well, Mike will. I'll watch."

Mike nodded excitedly. "The electricity's going in and out, but the stove runs on gas. I'll make pasta!"

"Thanks. I'll make a chart later so we can rotate chores around," Rachel mumbled. Quinn shook her head and smiled; Rachel's obsessive organizing skills were peeking through, remnants of a past life still clinging onto them all.

"Hey, did anyone bring a can opener?" Tina asked, holding up two cans of tomato sauce.

There was silence as they looked all at each other. Quinn sighed. Off to a great start.

_-000-000-_

The sounds of quiet chewing filled the room, the fire in the fireplace providing the only light as night fell outside. Quinn glanced around as she slurped up more spaghetti into her mouth; like herself, most people seemed preoccupied with eating their food than with talking.

Santana was first to break the silence. "Gotta hand it to you, Boy Chang—this isn't half bad. Much better than what Berry fed us the first night."

"You're lucky I even stopped to rescue you," Rachel countered mildly.

Santana groaned. "You're going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life, aren't you?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"I can think of several ways to pay you back, babe." Puck wiggled his eyebrows at Rachel. She swatted his knee.

"We're pretty lucky to be alive and together," Tina murmured. "Not all of us made it out."

"What do you think happened to Artie?" Brittany asked quietly, leaning into Santana for comfort.

"Dude was in a wheelchair. He had no chance," Puck said regretfully. "Let's face it—our families, Mercedes, Sam, Mr. Schue? Everyone's gone. Hell, my own sister tried to eat me."

Kurt sighed sadly. "Blaine wasn't at his house when we checked."

Finn furrowed his brow. "Do you think gay zombies only go for guys?"

"Shh, Finn. No one's in the mood for your stupidity," Santana grumbled.

"I'm serious," he insisted.

"We'll let you test that one out," Quinn said dryly.

"Zombie-me would probably go for both girls and guys," Brittany mused.

"We all know who Santana would eat," Puck snickered.

"Oh, sometimes Santana eats me out—"

Cheeks blazing red, Santana slapped a hand over Brittany's mouth and huffed in amused mortification when the blonde winked mischievously at her. "You really don't need to tell them that, B."

"Yes, please don't," Kurt said, nose wrinkled in disgust.

"I don't mind!"

"Shut up, Puck."

Rachel stood up and stretched. "It's late. We should get some sleep."

"How can anyone sleep with those _things_ that might be wandering around outside?" Mike looked worried.

"We'll take turns keeping watch throughout the night, about two hours each?" Rachel suggested. "The people who don't do it tonight can do it tomorrow night."

"Sounds good to me," Santana agreed before touching her nose. "Shotty not going first."

"That'll be me," Rachel assured her. "Who's second?"

"I'll do it," Quinn volunteered.

"I'll go next," Puck said gruffly.

"And me," Kurt added.

"Perfect. That's eight hours, which should be long enough for dawn to arrive." Rachel paused. "So, how're we dividing up bedrooms?"

Quinn rolled her eyes when Santana immediately claimed the master bedroom for Brittany and herself. Tina and Mike were content with the guest bedroom, which left two bedrooms to be fought over by five people.

"Rachel and I can share a bed," Finn proclaimed.

"Umm, no. I am _not_ sleeping with Puckerman," Quinn snapped.

"Too late for that."

"Shut up, Santana."

"Finn, I think it's inappropriate to sleep in the same bed when we aren't even in a relationship," Rachel said.

"Wait, you were serious about breaking up?" He asked in disbelief.

"I'll sleep with you," Puck offered. "With Rachel, not you, Finn."

"No thanks, I'm good."

"Propriety died along with everyone else, Berry," Santana lazily interjected.

"Fine, Santana, I'm simply not interested in sharing a bed with Finn. Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

"Hey," Finn protested.

"Finn, take Tina's old bedroom with Puck and Kurt. Rachel and I will take the other one," Quinn ordered.

Kurt looked horrified. "Absolutely not. I refuse to sleep next to teenage boy sweat and grime."

Puck scoffed and slung an arm around Kurt's shoulders. "What're you talking about, Hummel? I smell awesome. Besides, this sausage fest should be a dream come true for you."

"Finn farts in his sleep," Kurt complained.

"Suck it up," Quinn growled.

"Wanky."

"Santana, if you're not contributing anything, go to bed!"

Santana stuck out her tongue. "You're just jealous I've got a hot blonde to warm my bed—but that's the best idea you've given me all night. Later, bitches." She walked up the stairs with purpose, tugging a grinning Brittany by the hand toward the direction of the bedrooms. Quinn groaned, hoping the walls were thick enough to muffle sound.

They all dispersed after that, Tina and Mike into one room, a reluctant Kurt following Puck and Finn into another. Rachel went out on the balcony with nothing but a gun and flashlight for company. Quinn stepped inside the bedroom she and Rachel would be sharing and quietly changed out of her clothes, eyeing the spatters of blood that stained the bottoms of her jeans. She slipped into the bed and let herself simply lie there, feeling vaguely like an intruder under the rocket-ship sheets of a bed that didn't belong to her, its true owner long gone. Her eyes flickered restlessly between the cracks in the ceiling and the shadows that cloaked the room in darkness. Quinn's eyes burned with the need to sleep, but the pervading sense of isolated vulnerability that overcame her every time she closed them was terrifying.

After what seemed like forever, Quinn couldn't take it anymore. She got out of bed and walked outside; Rachel was leaning against the railing and looking up at the star-studded sky, looking remarkably unperturbed considering the circumstances. She turned around when Quinn stepped onto the balcony and cocked her head. "There's still some time left before your shift, Quinn."

Quinn tiredly shrugged. "I know. Just making sure you don't ditch us again," she lied.

Rachel immediately scowled, her features becoming more animated. "That was yesterday, get over it!"

"It was really early this morning, actually," Quinn corrected.

"It was only a momentary lapse of judgment." She groaned when Quinn only arched an eyebrow in response. "You're going to hold that over my head for the rest of my life, aren't you?" She asked, echoing Santana's question earlier.

"Absolutely," Quinn mimicked.

They stood in companionable silence for a while until a snap somewhere off in the woods below caused both of them to tense. Quinn squinted hard in the direction of the sound, Rachel's hands curling around the sniper riper. Several beats passed before breaths were released in relief, a white-tailed deer oblivious to their scrutiny as it grazed in the moonlight. Rachel set down the rifle.

"That was…nerve-wracking," she said quietly.

"Are you scared?" Quinn whispered.

Rachel laughed dryly. "You have no idea."

"Actually, I do," Quinn muttered, watching as the deer looked up at something only it could see before bounding off into the darkness.

"Is that why you can't sleep?"

Quinn shrugged and changed topics. "You were right, earlier."

"About what?"

"We're going to need distractions, or else we'll go insane. From the fear, the uncertainty, the grief." Quinn rested her chin on her hand and looked at Rachel. "I don't know what my distraction's going to be, though."

Rachel nodded thoughtfully. "Well, right now, it's to keep watch. Tomorrow, we'll find everyone something to do."

Quinn acquiesced silently by taking the gun from the exhausted brunette and waving a 'good night' to her. The stars out by the multitude provided some measure of light; the moon reflecting off still lake waters made an eerie sort of companion. If Quinn let herself forget for a minute, she was back home, sitting outside on the part of roof underneath her window and making a wish on every shooting star that passed above.

But a minute only lasted for so long. Memories dissipated into reality, both weariness and wariness settling in the forefront of her mind, taking over her body. She was at the lake house again, palm running over the smooth stock of the rifle, quietly determined to stand guard over the last family she had remaining.

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><p><em>Plot? What plot?<em>


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